The Prince, The Knight, And The Fool
by ElenaC
Summary: Chapter 16 up! Daedalus meets a young mortal doctor, who's not quite what he seems. Complications ensue. Novel length crossover story with the Stargate SG1 and Highlander universes. Co authored with Macko. Rated for slash and violence. Work in progress.
1. Encounter

**The Prince, The Knight, And The Fool**

A novel by Macko and Elena

* * *

**General disclaimer:**

Daedalus and Julian Luna, Daniel Jackson and Sean Burns are more or less familiar because – well, they're supposed to be. They're not ours; they belong to big companies who make lots of money with them, but lo! we don't make any money using them, we just borrow them over night and put them back nice and clean before dawn. Dr. Callum McKay, though, is ours. Nay, he actually belongs to himself, and any familiarities with living persons are no coincidence. He is a real existing person (his name, profession and whereabouts being but slightly altered). Please watch, don't touch.The same will be applied to Marcos and Evranos. Thank you. Macko & Elena

**Category: **drama, hurt/comfort, slash, first time

**Pairings: **Daedalus/male, Daedalus/Julian

**Kindred: **The Embraced/Highlander/Stargate SG-1 crossover

**Time line:** Kindred: The Embraced: Following "Romeo And Juliet" and taking a left turn into an AU; Highlander: any season; Stargate: SG-1: before the Pilot

**Warnings: **This story contains male/male sex, violence and sucking of blood and other bodily liquids. If this kind of thing offends you, don't read this story.

**Authors' Notes:**We realize that, for this story to work, the events in Stargate:SG-1 have to take place about 20 years later than is actually the case. Although no major characters from "Highlander" appear in this story, we are playing in that universe. The character of Callum McKay is especially dedicated to M. "Gromi" Schmidt, the best damn psychologist and grandmother I can think of.

* * *

**Chapter 1 - Encounter**

_**Callum**_

San Francisco… City of my dreams. I arrived in the city yesterday night, and the sight of the Golden Gate Bridge was overwhelming. It took the cab ages to get through to the hospital, twiddling itself through the hustle and bustle of a city preparing for a night out, but it gave me a good opportunity to look at my new homeland.

City of my dreams… I recall the sweaty nights in clubs, the darkrooms, the numerous pretty faces, men who were as eager as myself to find someone to love – well, no – to make love with, for a night or two, or maybe even a fortnight. But that was then and this is now, and I shouldn't look back. I should rather listen to what Sean has taught me, my dearest friend and teacher, and the person to whom I owe this job. Without the fantastic references he gave me, I wouldn't have dreamt of going to the States again, of applying for this ward doctor job. Without his connections (or should I call it intervention?) I wouldn't have got it.

Officially, I'm not even here as a psychologist. This ward doesn't have one, the hospital provides one therapist only, and she is in other sections most of her time, like geriatrics or gynaecology or what knows I. No, it is good old medicine I'm in, and I have been hired as a physician; officially. The prospect of this particular problem, though, the traumatized children, the need for a psychologist without extra cost, must have contributed to my getting this job.

Now I am here, my packets have arrived safely, I've had some hours of sleep (and will I ever catch up with this sleep deficit I've had since I was studying?) and I made my first round. The hospital has kindly provided me with sleeping quarters until I've found myself a place to stay.

Thirty children are living in this hospital at the moment, thirty traumatized little souls stuck in here. I know something dreadful has happened in this ward, my ward now, and some of it happened to my predecessor. As far as I can tell, being burnt in an oven isn't what people expect. I wasn't even told about that by the local authorities, such as management or police or the like, but by a little boy who happened to be witness to this gruesome scene. This little boy, though, will be gone tomorrow, because he had a spontaneous recovery. He will be replaced by another child, at least one relief, for then there are only twenty-nine to go.

So, I don't know anything. Some of them talk to me, others are just silent. All of them are afraid, well not of me, but of the situation itself. All I can do is finding out what harm has been done and trying to make things better. First of all, there will be a thorough change of interior. The colour of the rooms, the aisles, the furniture, all this is dreadful, and if I was a little child, it would suffice to see those yellowish tiles and those bare walls to scare me shitless. Pictures, too. Maybe some of the children like to paint them for me. For us.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

It is a foggy afternoon, as sometimes happens in this city. I don't mind the billowing moisture. It suits my mood, even though, hidden below ground as I am, I do not see much of its visible effects. But its scent lies in the air, filling everything with the sublime odor of earth and wet stone, something I find soothing.

I've been introspective of late, more so than usual. It happens to all of us from time to time - we question the way things are, our place in them, the meaning of our existence. That is normal. But more than this, I have begun to feel a restlessness, a need to look beyond, as though something was missing from my existence. I have no idea what this might be. Nothing has changed for me in decades. I've been content for so long, it's a mystery to me why I should feel less than content now, and for no apparent reason.

Even painting doesn't have its usual relaxing effect upon me, and I give up after an hour spent staring at an empty canvas. After some meaningless meandering through the sewers, I finally resolve to check on the children in the hospital. It has been three days since I last visited them, I realize with some surprise. How easy it is to lose track of time when all nights appear to blend together with their sameness!

Three days ago, Abel left the hospital, and I have not been back since. I quicken my pace through the sewers, angry with myself. My care for the children should not end with him. He was the one who first spoke to me, but the others need my help as much as he did.

Upon my arrival at the hospital, I become aware of something else in the air besides the fog.

Change.

Something has happened since the last time I visited with the children. It does not take me long to find out. A new doctor has arrived, a Dr. Callum McKay. Since Julian has not told me of this, I assume that this new doctor is not Kindred.

Change is not something I deal with very well. I don't like surprises. Few of us do. They invariably introduce an element of danger. This time, the danger is not to me, but to the children I've taken under my protection. They have been treated cruelly by Kindred, and it behooves us to make up for it as best as we can. Therefore, it is my responsibility to make sure that this new doctor will be good for my children, and not be yet one more person to abuse their helplessness.

I question a few children, gently, so as not to remind them of what happened here less than three weeks ago. They cannot tell me much about the man, except that he seems nice.

Nice. That's a non-description. A deserted sewer is nice. A dark street with many shadows under a full moon is nice. A good vintage is nice.

I need to see this doctor for myself. Finding a handy corner, I fade from sight to wait.

It doesn't take long. He's young, I notice with some suspicion. Are doctors this young in this day and age? Shouldn't they take longer for their studies?

He does not wear the traditional white clothes I've come to expect from the medical profession, but rather the blue jeans favored by the working classes during the last century (and by the young generation of this one). Also, his physique is not indicative of a sedentary lifestyle. Instead, he is built tall and slender, something I would expect from a sportsman, not a physician.

His eyes strike me. They are blue beneath a fringe of sandy, longish hair, and they appear unusually perceptive as he looks around the corridor through a pair of unobtrusive glasses. Lightly tanned skin with faded freckles. All in all, he looks aesthetically pleasing, if much too young and unconventional for a doctor.

I follow him into a room with three children, noting their reaction to the new head of this ward, his reaction to them. They seem to like him, which is encouraging. And, as I continue to observe, it's not surprising.

His manner is calm and gentle. He uses his words to examine his little charges, and only when they have settled does he add touch to his examination. His voice is accented, something European I haven't heard before, but then, my contact with mortals is severely limited.

I continue to follow him on his way though the ward, and my mistrust towards him is appeased more and more. He's a good man. Maybe I can trust him with my children, gradually withdraw my own presence and let them be taken care of by a mortal from now on, one of their own, as it should be.

The thought hurts.

I reluctantly walk back toward the door which will lead me to the cellar, and then I find myself hesitating.

I don't want to give this up. Through Abel's interference, something has happened here that taught these children not to fear me. He came to know me, and he told of me. They all accept my presence. I can't remember the last time a mortal looked upon me without fear or revulsion, and here is a ward full of innocents who are glad to see me, who talk to me. They're damaged and sick, but they are human, and they will recover, and they do not fear me.

If Julian can have his mortal cop to protect, then I can have my children. I turn my back to the door and return to the ward, still obfuscated.

The doctor has entered little Daniel's room and is trying to talk to him. I follow, taking up a position near the door, to observe.

There's something about this man. As I approach him, I try to find out what it is. Some quality, something that fascinates me. Is it his eyes? The way he talks? The way he tries to coax little Daniel out of his shell with only words?

I'm only a few feet away from him now. Of course, he can't see me, but I realize he senses something. I can clearly see goose bumps rise on his neck in response to my unseen presence. Quickly, I move back to the door. It is not my intention to frighten him, but still, I don't want to leave the room just yet.

Daniel has not spoken yet, but I'm amazed to find him nodding in response to a question. This has not happened before. He has not spoken or reacted to anything around him since he came here. When I first touched his mind in order to find out what has struck him dumb, I found it in turmoil with grief, confusion, fear, and guilt, and I realized that using any kind of mind trick or domination will not help him. Neither will chemistry, or alchemy – all of those methods will only cure the symptoms, not the cause. He will have to find his way back by himself.

And now this mortal man has made him nod just by talking to him.

I want to know him. But how can I approach him?

* * *

_**Callum**_

I've been here for a couple of days now, and everything seems to be settling down nicely. The colleagues are very kind, albeit a bit intimidated, presumably by my predecessor. I try to be as open and friendly as possible without currying favour, because I need them. Well, to be honest with myself, nothing seems to be settling down at all. Some City Great Mogul called Luna or the like is said to have promised the hospital a leisurely amount of money, and of course everybody is looking forward to putting it to good use for a whole new sanitary image. But it is not the redecorating of the aisles and rooms I'm worried about, or the pictures the children are painting. Why, what kind of pictures do you expect from children that have been abused? We will hang them up in the aisles, in spite of their questionable artistic value, if only to remind us of the job we have. It is all those little tasks besides everyday hospital routine best described as "the hygienic and digestive circle of life"; those little tasks like listening to what they are not saying.

Talking about digestion... There's something strange about the food. I mean, there is nothing wrong with the food, I've taken samples: the cocoa is just fine, the pancakes are edible, the whole range of hospital food is appropriate for, well, hospitals. And yet, most of the children seem to be starving. Some are dehydrated, too. I've tried to ask them what's wrong with the food, with the drink, but they refuse to answer me. Maybe the food was poisoned by my predecessor. Ridiculous, I'm getting paranoid already! Maybe it wasn't exactly poisoned, but some kind of sedative was added in order to keep them quiet. Rumour has it quite a lot of hospitals tend to do that to children, elderly people and all those who might be a burden otherwise. Just great.

But this is something I can take care of. If the children are afraid of eating and drinking, I will have to show them that the food and drink are all right. Which simply means that I will pay them a visit at breakfast time and have thirty small bites of pancake and thirty small cups of cocoa. Well, that's what I call commitment. Getting fat for the sake of health and morale.

Although I have been here for a few days only, I can already see that I can't take this upon myself entirely. The harm that has been done to all of them (including the personnel) is too great for one person to deal with, and what kind of superman am I supposed to be? It is like a back flow of negative energy so strong that it sometimes makes my jaw tense while walking to my office. I can hardly sleep at night, listening to the whisper of spirits of the past.

I make my round every night, and I have promised the children that I won't enter their rooms unless they allow me to. Most of them are wide awake when I softly knock at their doors, and many want my company; preferably for the rest of the night. The days are no better. They are demanding, and I am always tempted to spend much more time with each of them than I should allow myself in order to keep a professional distance. Daniel alone could keep me occupied the whole livelong day.

Daniel is most interesting.

I would like to write more about his state of mind, but I feel distracted by other thoughts, now that I'm reflecting. Something happened in his little room today, and I can't tell what. I felt – watched. As if some ancient ghost was standing behind me, watching my every move and word, guarding over the children. Sean once told me that I have exceptional insight, but – ghosts? I don't know. And yet, strangest thing of all is, the children seem to sense it, too, although they tell me nothing. Especially Daniel. Which takes me back on track.

The boy is scared, but not only of the things that might have happened to him in this house. There is a more important influence, like a vision, foremost in his mind. What can it be? I have checked his records, but the only thing I could find was, his parents died in an accident. Died in an accident… How? When? Well, I know when it happened, there's a date. But, I don't know, that's not all there's to know, a date. A place. But what did happen? What does Daniel know?

Children whose parents die in an accident don't necessarily go mute. I must have ignored an important detail. But what? Did he hear something, did he watch? I look at his sad little face, and for a moment I see something fall, something big and dark, and then – nothing. He looks back at me, he understands, he is open to communication, but he doesn't want to tell me. He doesn't seem to mourn; well, at least not mourn only. It's more like… if I only could put my finger on it… like guilt. Yuh, that's the ticket. He feels guilty. Why? I have to find out.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

I think I know now what it is about this man that draws me so. He is a transcender. He transcends walls between worlds. I've known about people like him, but I have never hoped to meet one.

Some mortals are able to accept our existence without automatically calling us monsters. By their mindset, they can accept that things beyond their comprehension or experience exist, and when they meet such things, they are intrigued, not frightened. Many centuries ago, during one of my philosophical phases, I spent some time pondering this, and in my mind, I called them transcenders. Well, the word does not translate very well into modern English. _Diercheothaios_; the goer-through. He who looks beyond. He who is ready to touch the veil. The transcender.

This Callum McKay is one of them. Watching him work with the children, and especially with Daniel, I've become convinced of this. His mind is open to possibilities. I'm almost certain that he won't run away screaming in terror when he finally sees me. Almost.

And it seems more and more inevitable that, soon, he will indeed see me. I have to be exposed to normal sight for the sake of the children if I want to talk to them, if only to avoid giving McKay the impression that his charges talk to themselves. Besides, the children are going to mention me eventually. I have tried to impress upon them the need for secrecy, but their guileless young minds have no concept of deceit and circumspection, and I don't want to be the one to teach them.

Callum McKay will transcend the walls in Daniel's mind to find the knots and clots that currently stem the flow of his words. Already, Daniel has begun to answer with gestures – a remarkable improvement. And another breakthrough has occurred with the aid of drawings.

Daniel has begun to express himself by drawing letters and hieroglyphs. I'm consumed by curiosity, so I resolve to visit him a little earlier than usual.

He looks up at me as I enter, even smiling a little.

"Hello, child," I say softly, holding back a moment before approaching. He's still skittish. "How are you?"

His smile grows wider, which I take to mean he's fine.

His bed is littered with paper sheets, many of them covered with multicolored designs. I go closer to him. "May I look at your drawings?"

He nods.

I'm intrigued to find that they are, indeed, hieroglyphs, real hieroglyphs. My ancient Egyptian is a little rusty, but I recognize the cartouche for Ra, surrounded by a prayer for bountiful crops. This boy either has an exceptional memory (a feat by itself), or he can actually write in this dead language.

On another sheet, I see Cyrillic letters forming perfect ancient Greek sentences. Inspiration strikes.

"Can you understand me?" I ask him in what is now regarded as classical Greek.

His eyes grow wide. "Yes," he says in the same language, and then, to my utter astonishment, he giggles. "You sound funny." His Attic Greek is clear and carefully pronounced.

I have to hold myself back from hugging him with joy. This is the first time he answered my attempts of speaking to him, the first time he let me hear his voice. "That is because I learned this language a very long time ago."

He cocks his head as he listens to my pronunciation. "How long ago? Longer than a thousand years? Is your name really Daedalus? Can you speak Minoan, too?"

I smile at his exuberance, and then I have to fight back tears of joy. A conversation with a child - the wonder of this simple thing is almost overwhelming, and my heart gives a few painful beats before stilling again. It is only then that the meaning of his questions becomes clear to me, and I stare at him in shock.

He just asked me if I learned ancient Greek a thousand years ago. No question about whether it's possible or not, no thought about limitations of normal mortal lifespans. Another transcender!

"Have I said something wrong?" he asks hesitantly.

I gather myself. "No, no, child. You said nothing wrong. But I do wonder why you never spoke to me before. I know you speak and understand English."

He lowers his head. "I don't like English," he mutters. "I don't like America."

Before I can pursue this interesting revelation, a knock interrupts us. "Daniel, can I come in?"

McKay is outside the door. Damn, he must have heard something. Daniel looks at me out of big blue eyes, wondering about my reaction. I stare back, indecisive. I can't become invisible or alter my appearance in front of the child. I can't just ignore the good doctor. I can't go out and confront him. If I let him come in, he will see me, which would be just as bad. Just letting a human see my face would be a breach of the Masquerade. I'd have to alter his memory, embrace him, or kill him. If I don't do any of those things, my life is forfeit.

"Daniel? I'm coming in if you don't say something."

If he goes on like this, he will scare the child. It can't be helped. I stride over to the door and open it.

* * *

_**Callum**_

I have heard his voice before. I'm not quite sure when, but it was like the familiar susurrus of an old building such as my grandmother's place. It was soft and warm, and whatever I might have thought its owner would be like, I am not prepared for what I see when the door opens.

They say you know a person within seconds. Sean said, your instincts do the rest, let them work for you. I always say, I don't know a person, not even after a decade, and my instincts are pretty poor compared with my emotions. For instance, I don't know anything about love at first sight. People I hated most at first sight more often than not turned out to be the ones I liked most once I got to know them better. I even fell in love with some of them, my instincts having been overridden by what you call common sense.

Whatever it may be, the sight of the stranger in Daniel's room washes over me like an unusually warm tidal wave, just with a slight hint that sharks might be in it.

For one thing, he doesn't look human. Of course, I know that he must be, though, but his cosmetic surgeon must have earned a fortune to design a head that – different. He is quite tall. I am quite tall, mind you, and he's taller than me. And bald. But it doesn't look as if he shaves his head on a regular basis, for his eyebrows are missing, too. It is more like the heads I've come to know in the cancer section. Anyway, somehow it suits his whole appearance, so whatever makes his hair stay away, it's worthwhile. His skin has an almost greyish pallor, definitely not healthy, the features look – for lack of a better word – reptile-like, especially the ears (if reptiles had ears, that is), and his whole appearance is even more grotesque because of his old-fashioned clothes. His hands look longer than usual, and at a closer look I find that he has grown and somehow shaped his fingernails into what I can only call talons. So, I have in front of me someone with a serious Goth problem. Or else, a towering pale reptile in a frock coat. If I didn't know better, I would think he can't be human, after all.

Then I see his eyes: dark, melancholy eyes that tell me the rest of the story. What relentless pain lies in them, what power, what expressiveness! Those eyes that look at me in expectation, rimmed with a hint of fear. And then, like so many times before when I met someone special, I feel this sensation seize me again, a feeling like being cut off reality for a sec, while the background fades into a kind of fog, and for a glimpse I see a different face, a handsome one with a dark tan, framed by black curly hair, smiling at someone, probably someone from the past, altered, and yet so related to the features in front of me that it can only be him. And, as usual, the image is gone in an instant.

Who is he? What is he? I look at the boy, and what I detect in his face is all the answer I need. Without a word, Daniel tells me that this man needs not be feared, but may be trusted, and thus I am relieved. I stick my hand out and look into the stranger's eyes, "Hi. I am Dr. McKay. And you are…?"

I come to in my own room, safely seated on the couch. I can hear a voice in my head, it is but a blur. But, yes, if I close my eyes, I can see that face again. Dark, piercing eyes, strangely familiar, as if I'd seen them before. And I have. Or I haven't. I look around me, feeling watched, but I am all on my own. I close my eyes again, trying to concentrate. There it is, the voice I must have heard, at least in my dreams, saying: "My name is unimportant," and then, "You will forget that you have seen me in a moment. I would advise you not to call for help – it will merely frighten the children and avail you nothing." The voice is getting softer, but I can still hear it. "Neither you nor the children have anything to fear from me." Then, there is only a soft whisper. "Forget me. Forget that you have ever seen me."

With a start, I open my eyes. Now I know what happened. I owe it to Sean that I have learned to read the signs, but there they are: the slightly unsettling feeling of a kind of déjà-vu, the lack of memory, the reverberation… I must have been hypnotised. But I can't remember what really happened. Whatever it was, I will have cameras installed in every single room tomorrow morning. And then – we'll see.

* * *

To be continued... 


	2. Sensations

**Chapter 2 - Sensations**

* * *

For disclaimer see Chapter 1

* * *

_**Callum**_

It is evening again, and I can hardly remember what I've been doing over the day; it was just too much. I stare at the paperwork in front of me and wonder how the small amount of documents was able to grow into such a capital pile in less than nine hours. In order to get my mind clear for the next round, I look at the monitor that shows me images of the rooms where my little charges are staying, all of them, one camera per room. I lazily switch from one to the other, watching the children read, play, eat or sleep. Nothing out of the ordinary. Yawning, I turn to work on my papers again, leaving the monitor set to show Daniel's room, where the boy is deeply involved in drawing some ancient hieroglyphs.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

I did not dare let more than two nights pass. Callum's memories are altered – he will not remember me. Returning to the hospital may be a risk, but the children need me. And I have another, more selfish reason: I don't want to be deprived of their company.

Or Callum's.

That's the most confusing thing about this whole situation: I was right. He did not scream in terror. He looked at me, and I mean right at me, he saw me with his transcender's eyes and looked beyond my hideous exterior. I'm sure of it. The moment our eyes met is burned into my memory.

He saw me, and he looked at me with empathy, even compassion. He offered me his hand as if I was just like him. The look in his eyes warmed my soul.

I headed back for my haven, and during the long walk though the sewers that moment stayed with me. I hugged it to myself during the day's rest, and during the next night I painted him, driven by the need to take his image with me to my sanctuary and make it permanent.

Painting, for me, is an almost subconscious process. I never think about what I do when I paint. I hardly think at all. Surrounded by the soothing smell of linseed oil, I can disengage totally from what my hands are doing, or from what's going on inside my own mind. It's a testament to the trust I put in Julian and his security that I allow myself to reach this state where, most of the time, I become completely unaware of my surroundings. There is only colors, shapes, and the strokes of brush on canvas. And whenever I come back to myself and look at what I've painted, I am surprised.

This time, I was not. Taking a step back from the easel, I smiled at my own folly.

Callum, of course. Warm colors, for once nothing menacing or ugly about the painting. Just Callum, wearing a little less clothing than I'd seen him in. Breathtakingly beautiful. I'm setting myself up to be hurt again, I realized. And I knew there was no way I was going to stay away from the hospital, or from him.

Now I'm back in the children's ward, obfuscated. Despite my longing for his company, I have to be careful not to show myself to him again. Deleting an imprint once is simple. Repeated imprints leave deeper marks, and I may not be able to dominate him into forgetting me again so easily. Admiring from afar – that's all I'm going to do, all I'm going to have of him.

But first, the mystery of the boy who paints hieroglyphs and speaks ancient Greek. Maybe, if I talk to him a little more, I can find out why he won't speak the language his parents used. I've gone through his file, so I know that his parents were archaeologists, a fact that explains his aptitude with ancient languages. If I can get him to speak English again, it will be a help for Callum, who then can take over.

It's a way I can do something for him without being noticed.

I wait until Callum is busy in his office before I enter little Daniel's room, now exposed to normal sight. He is sitting at the table, drawing, but he looks up as I enter.

"Good evening, child," I greet him in ancient Greek.

"Good evening," he answers solemnly. "Where have you been, Daedalus? I missed you."

For a moment, I am speechless. "You missed me?" I repeat stupidly.

He nods in that earnest way only eight year olds can nod. "You weren't here yesterday." He has to think a moment about the preterit tense, but he chooses the correct one.

"But the new doctor, Callum, is here."

"But he can't speak our language," he says in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Daniel, you will have to speak English eventually. If you don't, the only one you have to talk to will be me."

He looks away.

"Don't you like Callum?"

"Yes, I like Callum. But I don't like English. I never want to speak it again. I'd rather only talk to you my whole life."

The sound of the door opening makes me move to the wall in an instant. But I know there's no way to avoid another confrontation even as I seek the shadows that are not there. No way to hide, no way to disguise myself; not in front of the child.

And there he is, blue eyes blazing with fury. "Stay where you are, and don't you try this hypnotizing shit on me again!"

I face the young doctor impassively, admiring his passion and the fact that he overcame my effort to dominate his memory. Even more beautiful in real life! I resolve to let him make the next move and see where this situation takes us.

He looks over to Daniel. "We've got to talk," he continues much calmer, "but not in front of the boy. Follow me, now, if you please." Without waiting for a response, he turns and leaves the room.

I look at Daniel. The child looks less disturbed than I expected, which is encouraging. The most important thing now is to contain an escalation, so I do as I am told and follow the physician. There are still a few alternatives open to me, and only one of them includes killing this man – a thought already too horrible to contemplate.

* * *

_**Callum**_

I am waiting for him in my office. To my slight surprise, he follows me, enters stiffly and takes a hat stand pose near the door. I feel inclined to beg him into the room, for the last thing I would want to is intimidate him, and I can't have him standing by the door, actually. I am still not sure if he is a madman, or an idealist, or something else I wouldn't have dreamt of, so I ask him as nonchalantly as possible to sit down. He declines, his face remaining still, his eyes avoiding me. So I stand up and walk to him.

Whatever is going on inside him, he is very good in hiding it, but he turns his head towards me, at least, saying, "You are a remarkable human being."

"As are you," I reply. "Nevertheless, I need a real good explanation for your being here, in this house."

His face is like that of a statue. "I can give you none, except that the children need me."

"Insufficient." I try to swallow my up-surging anger, and manage to remain calm, although he isn't making it easy. Then I decide to treat him like I would treat any of my patients. After all, he definitely could be one of them. Hence, I explain in a professional, calm tone of voice: "See, I've been in charge for a week now, and these children are sick. They are very sick. And now I meet, in the middle of the night, a complete stranger who comes out of nowhere, enters their rooms and talks to them as if he was authorized to do so! What would you expect me to do?"

"I would expect you to do exactly what you are doing. In fact, I would not stop at interrogation. Fortunately for you, this situation will end differently: you'll let me leave unmolested, never to see me again. Now."

His answer surprises me, but if he can hide his thoughts, so can I. Before any second thoughts can interfere, I take hold of his arm. "Wait." I realize that his biceps is like steel. I realize, even more aware of the fatal mistake I might just have made, that he is, in fact, quite a bit taller than I am, and in very good shape. And his teeth are very… strange… He looks down at my hand, then up into my eyes, still expressionless, but he tenses. Besides my understandable worry to be beaten up the next moment, or at least shoved away brutally, I still detect something else behind the dark veil of his glance, something – good. My voice softens, and I add: "Please," and there the magic happens: he hesitates.

Small victories make little heroes bold, so I can hear myself saying, in the same sweet voice as before, "I will see you again, because there is a camera in every room, tapes are being made…"

Whatever else it does to him, at least it puts a smile on his face. "Of course. Clever."

In spite of this obvious lack of fear in front of the observer, I feel inclined to press on, adding, "And the matter won't be settled that easily."

There he regains his former posture, his voice as cool as his eyes. "There is no matter to settle. I've committed no crime. I will leave, and that will be the end of this. Unless you wish to hinder me…?"

I feel beaten, but I can't go back now. What do I have to lose? So, I stake everything on my last card. "Yuh, in fact I do. Because, as my grandmother put it, there's always anaither chance."

"A chance? For what?"

He falters. And I feel relieved. "Look, would you sit down please? It's the wee sma hoors already, and I'm tired." There now: He hesitates, then moves to sit down. Feeling much more confident now, I dare sit down on the desk in front of him. I don't want anything to be between us now, and if I am going to go through with this, I have to take a chance and face the walls around him. Preferably in order to pull them down.

But there it is again, this unblinking stare, the stiff demeanour. And he is persisting. "There is no need for discussion of any kind. You may have your say, and then I will leave."

"You're a tough one," I retort as jovially as I dare. "Has the thought ever crossed your mind that I might think you're – well – a bit of a chancer?" I realize that I have started using words from my mother tongue without thinking of the consequences, and I silently hope that he doesn't know them.

Obviously, I'm at least right about that, for he replies: "Whatever that may mean, you have no way of knowing what I am. And it's not the point, either. Say what you wish to say."

"And you will listen."

He inclines his head.

I can't keep myself from adding: "You're good at listening, aren't you."

Again, he gives me a graceful nod. And out of a sudden, everything seems clear and easy. I just need to go on. "The children trust you."

"Yes."

"What about… an agreement?"

There, I have him now. For the first time since I've met him, he looks puzzled. "What kind of agreement?"

I smile at him conspiratorially. "Well, to be honest, you seem to be doing a jolly good job here. And I could use some help."

His eyes grow wide. "You need my help?"

"Actually, well, yes." And I can't keep myself from winking an eye at him, as I often do with children and colleagues alike.

My strange guest seems to slowly start something I would call relaxing, compared to his former posture, and says, "From what I've seen, you seem to be doing a very good job – for one so young."

"Thank you. I think. For one thing, I'm no good at – what was it, ancient Greek? And then, I need some sleep eventually. And there's all the cameras about, and if you make a wrong move, you're out." So, finally, the cards are on the table.

He won't commit himself that easily, though. "Need I remind you that I was never 'in'?"

"But you are, dear," I reply cheerfully, "and now you must take responsibility for what you've started, and not just run away. Think of the children. They need you."

"If it weren't for the children, I wouldn't be here!" Suddenly, his eyes become quite lively. "There have been crimes committed in this ward, and what dues need to be paid I'm here to pay - I was here to pay. Now you're here, and the children need someone like you. You will take over from now on. You don't need me."

"But I do. I… need you." And that's a fact I come to believe while listening to my own voice.

In contrast to me, he doesn't seem to believe me that easily. "How can you say that? You don't know me…"

It's one of the commonplace retorts I've heard so often in my life it makes me angry in an instant. "Yuh, that's right. I know that you're one devious son of a bitch, that's why I had the cameras installed. But now, we've talked. That's the only thing I wanted you to do, talk to me. But now I'm pretty sure that it might work. You could do one part, my humble self the other." I try to catch my breath and calm down again. "It could work fine… if I only knew your name."

"What are you saying? I can't continue to be here, now that you know. It's impossible."

"Know what? That you look a bit different? That you talk ancient babble like an actor? That you might be a colleague, apart from the fact that your looks need some getting used to? Well, the children don't mind, I don't mind. What's your point?"

"You… want me to be here?"

As we are talking, I can feel quite different feelings growing inside of me, feelings that I wouldn't in the least call professional. I see his eyes again, looking at me now, sad, almost imploringly. I know my voice will falter if I try to put into words what I'm thinking right now, so the only chance is to stand up to it with another commonplace. "And would you deign tell me your name?"

He is still flabbergasted. "I'm Daedalus."

"Okay. Daedalus. Please." And with this, I offer him my hand. Daedalus looks at the hand, then takes it.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

I have to admit that this was the strangest situation I found myself in since Archon Raine asked me to take care of Julian after Manzanita some twelve years ago.

Then, I was overwhelmed by the trust he invested in me, a Nosferatu warrior, to watch over and comfort the Prince's childe so soon after a clan war - with nothing to go on but faith. And now, this mortal doctor also accepts me on nothing but faith. He saw me, he must have noticed my monstrous looks, and yet...

Of course, it could still be some elaborate trap, the paranoid part of me whispers, but I pay it no heed. All my instincts, woefully inadequate though they may be where mortals are concerned, tell me that this man is no enemy. If Callum McKay wished me ill, he would have acted by now. Instead, he welcomed me as a colleague, and asked for my help.

I'm still speechless.

I wish there was someone I could ask for advice. The fact remains that even letting a mortal see my face constitutes a breach of the Masquerade – a transgression I have already committed. Going through with this proposal would mean compounding my crime. I know this, and still I feel no compulsion to keep myself from this chance.

To talk to someone, to even work with someone who isn't Kindred – it would fulfill a dream I didn't even know I had. That this someone is a transcender makes my situation both easier and more complicated. If I do go through with this, how much will he guess about me, how much will he learn about what I am?

And on the heels of that thought follows another: Maybe he would even agree to be Embraced...

But I'm getting ahead of myself. First I have to see how this strange arrangement will work out. Therefore, I'll be here again tomorrow at sundown. How will it be? Will we talk much? He'll probably want to get to know me. What should I tell him? Mortals nowadays have so many means of information at their disposal. If I make up some story to explain my strange looks, he'll probably see through it. There are some things about me that our favorite standby, the porphyria story, will not explain, least of all if told a physician. But, of course, I can't tell him the truth, either, not that he would believe it.

All complications aside, the mere thought of spending time with this man, of talking, no matter what about, fills me with joy.

But first, there is another complication I'll have to take care of. It goes without saying that I can't allow this mortal to make and possess videotapes of me. I fade from sight, wait until Callum has left his office, and begin a search.

It doesn't take long to find out that there are no recorders in his office. None. The cameras, one in each room like he said, are connected to a monitor (password-protected at that), but there's no means of making recordings, not even the necessary cords. The mortal bluffed me!

I don't know whether to be annoyed or amazed, but then, amazement wins out. Truly a remarkable man, this Callum McKay. Shaking my head, I leave the hospital and head for the nearest manhole.

I will have to be careful on another front. Julian may have need of my help during the night, and if I'm not in my haven, and no one knows where I am, it may result in problems. After all, I am his Enforcer. This would mean being – what do they call it – AWOL, away while on leave. And I certainly feel no inclination to tell him about my new position. I already know what he'd say, and I don't want to hear it, even if he's right. Especially if he's right.

I shake my head. A position at a hospital. Treating children. Me.

* * *

_**Callum**_

I still can't believe what I've done. I am lying in bed, and the few hours that remain to find some sleep will surely pass – well – unslept. My mind is in quite a euphoric state, although it can't be just because of the discussion we've had. I should be used to confrontations, and I can't remember a single one that has ended in – this: pretending to have employed a New Colleague in order to save my life. I don't know him, he has no references whatsoever, I'm not even sure he is human (wondering how I come to think that thought again and again, but nevertheless thinking it), and yet I had to go and make him believe that he is of help. Why?

First and foremost it is because of the children. They seem to really need him. They seem to trust him. They talk to him. Why, of course they have found a great deal of confidence in me now, and maybe see something like a saviour in me, but the real guarding angel of this ward seems to be Daedalus. Or else, they are so afraid of him that they don't want to risk antagonizing him, which would mirror my own suspicions, and I may turn out to be wrong after all in trusting him. Which I still feel I should.

And that's about it. Tossing and turning and finding no sleep, I see his image floating in front of me. I am not really afraid of him, in fact, I think he is rather nice. I can hear my grandma chiding me for this word, saying something like "A nice person is someone who can bore you through an evening. Don't say that about someone you really care for." Okay, grandma, point taken. He is more than that. I feel… safe with him, although I shouldn't because I don't know him and he looks quite a bit like a madman after all, and he has no right to do what he is doing. And so on. And yet. Under his constant stare it wouldn't be easy even to stagger. And I like his hands. They are strange, yet they are honest hands, and sensitive, like those of an artist.

No, Callum, don't go there.

It must be past seven. Maybe I did fall asleep for a moment there. Anyway, I have to get up, and I can still feel his presence, even in the shower. The thought of him is quite distracting, and I try to get my mind away from it, urging it towards more pressing matters. Like the ward, and the money, and the annoying "state visit" tomorrow morning, including the big boss, the general hospital manager, and Julian Luna.

* * *

To be continued... 


	3. Discourse

**Chapter 3 - Discourse**

* * *

For disclaimer see Chapter 1

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

„The guys miss you, boss," Frederick rasps, his talons absently chipping away little bits of wax from the candle he's playing with.

He turned up in my haven to give me his status report as usual, but then he plunked himself down onto a wooden box, grabbed the candle and is still refusing to meet my eyes.

I frown, not sure how to take that remark. „Has something happened?" I ask my second. It would be an explanation for his behavior. Normally, my clan is disciplined enough to get along without me, and I'm not sure they enjoy my presence – certainly not enough to „miss" me. But an unusual occurrence might make them need my guidance.

Frederick throws me a quick glance. The Nosferatu's curse has left him with abnormally large black eyes, a bald domed head (like most of us), and thin, long limbs. He looks a bit like an alien, and I'm aware that, with typical Nosferatu humor, some clansmen have taken to calling him Roswell behind his back. „No, nothing like that," he assures me in his soft, hoarse voice. „Everything's quiet in the Clan. It's just that... well, we haven't really gotten together for a while, all of us, and some of the guys still feel bad about that whole Goth thing..."

I suppress a growl. As well they should. A hint of promise of more power and standing, and how quick they were to abandon common sense and their Primogen to follow the antitribu! I continue to frown, but I say nothing. This abandonment by my own clan still rankles.

Frederick looks at me for a moment, then back down at his spindly hands mutilating the candle. Little bits of wax litter the black jeans encasing his long thin legs. „The guys hope maybe we can all sorta kiss and make up," he says softly, „get together and play." He shoots me another quick glance. „You know, like we did before all this happened."

Sill I say nothing.

Frederick reaches out and nudges me. „Come on, boss, say yes. Nothing like a good gossipin' to get over hurt feelings. The guys're really sorry, yanno, and you sulkin' won't make it better." He grins at me, probably to take the sting out of his words, then he gets back to whatever he's doing to the candle.

„Very well," I relent. „Tell them in three nights." I return his delighted smile. This might actually be a good idea, and he's right. I've sulked long enough. Clan unity must take precedence now. „But I'll expect every last one to participate, so tell them to get their facts straight." Inwardly, I groan. That means I'll have to brush up on my trivia as well. It wouldn't do for the Primogen and Clan Elder to be out of the game before, say, an eager neonate.

„Awesome! Thanks, boss!" Frederick grins and hands me the candle. I'm surprised to find that he carved it into a Native American totem pole with his talons. „Oh, and it might be a good idea for you to drop in on the prince before you call it a night, boss," he adds as he stands to brush off his clothes. „He was lookin' for you earlier."

I nod in acknowledgment. Probably merely a social visit, or Frederick would have mentioned something. As I watch my second leave toward the sewer entrance, I resolve to stop by the wine cellar on my way to the mansion. Sharing a glass with Julian is always a pleasant prospect.

* * *

When I enter Julian's office, exposed to normal sight, my prince is seated at his desk, shuffling paper back and forth. He doesn't look up, even though I know he knows I'm here. "Julian," I greet him, resolving to answer bad manners with good manners. 

He still doesn't look up, but he acknowledges my presence with a grunt.

I wait. When nothing more is forthcoming, I add, "You were looking for me?"

"Yes," he responds, still looking down at his obviously all-important paperwork. "But you weren't there."

I suppress a sigh. I thought Julian and I were beyond these petty games. "I'm here now. Has something occurred?"

Julian finally looks up, and, taking a deep breath, he folds his hands on the table, the picture of princely composure. "You should know," he says with an enigmatic smile.

I do indeed know, but two can play this game. "In that case, I'll assume that you desired the pleasure of my company."

He clears his throat. "I meant, you should know if something occurred. But you seem to be distracted."

So, he suspects something. I keep my face devoid of expression. Nowhere within the Commandments or the Traditions does it say that the Prince's Enforcer has to be on hand 24 hours a night. "Not too distracted to miss anything of importance. And I know that nothing occurred." I remember the bottle of wine I've brought and hold it up as a peace offering. I'm not in the mood to indulge his sulking. If my own second can accuse me of childish behavior, I fully intend to pass the reprimand on to my prince.

At last, Julian seems to realize how ridiculously he is behaving. Getting up, he retrieves two glasses from the cupboard. "Good." He places them on the table and falls silent again.

I look at him, realizing I was wrong. "What is it, Julian?"

"You should know. You're holding it in your hands. Old, I presume?"

Very droll, Julian. I refuse to dignify that with a response.

He grins suddenly, but grows serious again just as fast and avoids my eyes. "It is nice to see you."

I have to suppress another sigh. "Julian, you're my friend. If something is bothering you, you know you can talk to me." At least accuse me of something so I know what it is you suspect.

"Would you mind opening the bottle?"

This is getting ridiculous. Without thinking, I open the bottle using my fore claw while watching Julian's face. Caine knows I've been away from his mansion before, and it didn't even seem to register with him, let alone warrant a sulk like this. Now, he seems torn between being angry and genuinely pleased to see me. Talk about mixed signals!

Julian at last looks at me while handing me my glass. "I hear you are at the hospital most of the time."

Finally, an accusation. "I'm there often, hardly most of the time."

"Well, you should spend most of your time here, you know that."

"I do indeed."

"After all, you are my enforcer. And sometimes things are urgent."

"I'm not aware of any current circumstance requiring my services in that capacity. If I were, I would be here. You know that."

"But maybe not fast enough. The hospital is a long way off."

He's beginning to try my patience. "So is Caitlin's home, if I remember correctly."

It was a low blow, I'll admit. Julian puts down his glass hard. "Caitlin has nothing to do with us," he says in a controlled voice.

"Neither has the hospital."

He makes an impatient gesture. "The point I'm trying to make is, that... you belong at my side. It's what the law requires."

"I agree."

He takes a gulp of his wine. "Good. Fine. So, you... are doing fine, I presume."

"Yes." I'm beginning to lose track of this conversation. Small talk? Now?

"And you do know that you shouldn't get involved with this... Scottish doctor?"

Oh Julian, no one is aware of this more than I am. Stopping myself from bringing up Caitlin again and needlessly antagonizing him, I merely reply, "Yes, I know."

"Only reminding you. It wouldn't do any good if you got carried away."

Princes in glass houses, Julian. "You are quite correct."

"I am telling you this as your friend. And your prince."

I smile at him, consciously trying to keep from grinding my teeth. "There is no reason for your concern. The situation is under control." At least I hope so.

"Good. Glad to hear it. Keep it that way."

"Of course."

"Good wine."

"Yes."

We drink in silence.

"Do not let me detain you." Apparently, Julian has finally given up on this attempt at socializing with me as a bad job.

I can't help but agree with him. "My Prince."

* * *

_**Callum**_

The important visitors have left their impression. They believe I'm doing just fine, and they trust in me, and they like the pictures on the walls. Which explains why the actual therapy is being left to me, not to one of them. The pictures aren't really dreadful, but the stories they're telling are. Moreover, I'm already used to phrases like "I see you are doing fine." It means, 'Let me own the money and give you your little salary and I will let you do the rest of the work.' Well, at least they are satisfied, and Mr Luna promised more cheques to come.

Besides, Luna is one good-looking son of a gun. He's almost as tall as I, carefully dressed in black and blue, and what I'd call a Latin Lover proto type. Really cute. Hey, and really important, and rich, and influential - and off limits.

Anyway, we have this little talk. He asks me about my background, wondering (like so many before him) that I am so young and yet have managed to study medicine and psychology, and – annoying but true – commenting quite professionally on my work with the children here, as well as on any publication I've ever made. Not that my opus consists of any great volumes, mind you, but I am taken aback that this Luna person knows anything about it at all. And then he throws me, like a final blow, this piercing glance of his, one eye black, one eye brown, and turns on his heels, swaggering out of sight.

Please let me add to the sequence above that he isn't only strikingly good-looking and so on, but also an arrogant asshole if I've ever met one.

Now I am on my own again, and I want to spend some time with Daniel. The first contact between us is established, and I am planning to get him to talk today. If I fail, it will take me some time to find another tactic, but I am quite confident about what I am planning.

He looks at me and smiles shyly as I enter his room. I sit down by his side and watch him draw his hieroglyphs for quite some time without talking at all. Finally, he puts down his pencil and looks at me expectantly. That is because I usually start talking as soon as I have entered his room.

This is my clue. I take a good look at the pictures and say, "They're Egyptian, aren't they?"

He nods.

I continue our little half-dialogue, "I suppose you are able to read them, too?"

Again, a slight nod.

"And I'd bet you speak Egyptian like a native."

He looks at me in astonishment. His mind seems to be searching for a reason behind my question, and his lips start to move, but he won't answer. Not yet.

I smile again. "I think I can remember hearing you talk to Daedalus before I came in, the night before last one."

Nod.

"And it wasn't English."

His eyes grow wide. I take this for fear, but I have to go on now. "It sounded like some ancient language, Greek or something. Right?"

This time, he nods very carefully, as if trying not to annoy me.

I pretend to be a bit more stupid than I am, saying with a thoughtful expression, "It might have been ancient Egyptian, too, thinking about it, but I never heard them talk, as they must have been living before my time."

Now Daniel laughs softly and seems to relax a little.

Time for another round. "I can't speak ancient Greek, either," I say, dripping with regret. "So we never can talk." Then, an idea seems to strike me. "Hey, but you do understand what I am saying, right?"

He nods again.

"So you don't want to speak English."

For the first time, he shakes his head, though very carefully.

I look at him, honestly sad. "That is a pity, you know, because I can't speak ancient Greek, and you won't speak English, so we can't talk about the weather. Or the things you like."

He looks at me, wide-eyed. And then, he whispers something, very softly.

"I didn't quite get that, Daniel. Would you care to repeat it?"

He pulls his head between his shoulders, and then repeats, almost painfully shy: "I don't like English."

I try to hide my excitement and go on asking, "What is so bad about English?"

And again, he dares to answer: "All bad things happen in America."

I remember. His parents died here, in New York, he came to San Fran, he was abused here by my predecessor. No wonder, the kid is right. I take his hand. "Yes, that's true, bad things were happening to you in America. But you know not everybody is bad here. Daedalus, for instance. And me. And many others, too."

He stares at me, not daring to say anything more.

I carry on. "Besides, I am not American. I come from Scotland, from the Highlands, and I grew up in a cottage near Fort William, yes, that's right, that's how we pronounce it, and I was brought up by my grandma who was talking like this." I say something in Scots, and Daniel seems to like it a lot.

He hesitates, then whispers: "Can you teach me to talk like that?"

Now, I have to hide tears of joy. I carefully put my arms around his unresisting shoulders and reply: "But of course, Daniel. Of course I can teach you to talk like my grandma. And then, we can talk whenever we like. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"Yes," he answers. "Nice."

Some time later, I leave his room, filled with triumph of a very personal sort, and merriment, and I thank God Almighty for what he helped me to achieve.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

When I next arrive at the hospital, I have to keep myself from seeking the shadows like I did all the times before. I am here in a semi-official capacity this time, I remind myself. I'm expected, welcome even. What a strange feeling!

The corridors are deserted, but I can hear Callum in his office. With anticipation and apprehension mixing in my heart, I approach the door, still visible, and open it. At the sight of him, anticipation wins out by a mile, and I can't keep from smiling at him, barely remembering in time to keep my teeth from showing. Caine, this is going to be hard!

"Daedalus, please, do come in." He gets up and comes to me, and I can't help but compare the warmth of his reaction to my presence with Julian's earlier.

"Callum," I greet him, acutely aware of how monstrous I must appear to him in the artificial lighting. Entering his office, I at least try to keep my hands out of sight – nothing much I can do about the rest of me.

Callum sticks out his hand to greet me, an all-encompassing smile on his face. For a moment, I can't think, taken out at the knees by kindness. Then I recover and take his hand, immediately forgetting all about hiding my ragged claws. I hold his warm hand in mine a moment too long, enjoying his touch, but he merely holds on and leads me by the hand to a small lounge in one corner of his office.

"Please, sit down. How are you?" he asks warmly.

I comply. Free once more of the devastating influence of his touch, I remember to fold my hands around my talons. "I'm fine." There's a whirring sound. I look up, and my eyes find the camera in one corner of the ceiling, its auto focus lens busily moving back to capture me. "And how are you?" I add, looking back at him. My clever, bluffing friend.

He, too, is looking at the camera, smiling faintly. "Weeeell," he drawls, "it's a long way to go, but we seem to be rolling. D'ya want a biscuit?"

"No, thank you."

His intelligent eyes hold my gaze. "Did you perchance know that the food was - well - altered a bit?"

I was never present when the children were fed. "No, I didn't. What do you mean?" I frown. Did someone try to poison my children?

Callum grabs a cookie and begins munching it, apparently unconcerned. "Doesn't matter now, to be plain. It's okay now."

I realize he must have taken my refusal to eat for complicity, but I decide to let it slide. "How are the children?"

"They are doing fine. Did you notice some of the drawings they've made?"

"Yes. What about them?"

"They are telling me stories. The drawings. More than the children could tell me, if I was talking to them. I mean, about what happened..."

"I see."

"Pictures and the written word have enormous power, to my mind."

So much wisdom and knowledge at so young an age! Such insight, such compassion. You are going to go far in the world, Callum McKay. If only I could be there to guide you all the way.

To my surprise, he blushes under my proud gaze. "Uhm. Tea?"

Oh yes, he still thinks I'm marginally human. "No, thank you. Shouldn't we be working?" I add, trying to divert his considerable attention from the fact that I won't eat human food. Other Clans are adroit at faking it, but Nosferatu normally don't mingle with mortals and, therefore, never adopted this ability.

"We can't be working awra time. Just sit here for a couple of minutes and relax, what do you think?"

"Very well." Obediently, I remain seated without altering my posture one bit. I'm aware that humans fidget – playing with their hands, shifting, scratching -, but I'm not comfortable faking this behavior. It would probably look ridiculous, and I'm aware that Callum, after all, is a psychologist, and a transcender. He'd see right through it, and that would be much worse than doing nothing at all. I check that my claws are still hidden from sight, and then I merely look at him, unmoving.

He sighs and smiles to himself. I continue to watch him as he rises to pour himself a cup of tea (black, brown sugar, milk), carries it back to his seat and takes a sip. I know he's aware of my scrutiny as he puts down his cup and stretches, and I feel a warm glow at the knowledge that he really is comfortable in my presence.

Abruptly, he turns to me. "You are a great help. I'm glad you're here."

Will I ever get used to this unconditional acceptance? "Thank you," I barely manage to reply, fighting down a strong urge to wrap him in my arms and never let go.

Then he proceeds to knock the dead air out of my lungs by putting his hand on my shoulder. "So, how about you start at Room 18, and I start at Room 1?"

I swallow hard, and it actually takes me a moment to understand and process his words. "All right," I breathe, unable to keep from smiling.

"I don't know how you do it, but the children seem to relax in your presence."

The mention of my children finally snaps me out of it. "Don't sell yourself short," I say, proud of how normal my voice sounds. "You have a gift." I've seen you with them. I may make them relax, but you make them talk.

He laughs. "Yeah, I know. That's what Sean told me all the time. Yes, I know. And what good it did do me while I was studying the stuff." His eyes lose some of their happy glow, and I resolve then and there to find out what it is that makes him so sad, and to banish it from his memory. Then, he rubs his hands together briskly. "However, I'm here now."

"Shall we go?" I'm smiling again, I realize. I must have smiled more today than this past century.

He looks back at me and returns my smile, and I can feel my heart give a few slow beats. "Yes, Daedalus. Let's go."

We leave his office. I match my pace to his, not wanting to leave his presence.

He reaches out and holds my arm. "You know," he says earnestly, "I really enjoy talking to you."

"So do I." Caine knows that's the truth.

"We must do this more often." His eyes are wide open and so, so blue. His hand on my arm is warmth radiating all through me.

"I'd like that," I breathe, my voice dropping to its lowest register.

"Well then... I suppose I won't be seeing you around any more tonight?"

Do not tempt me! "I'll leave before morning," I reply, admonishing myself as much as him, even as I have to fight to keep my hands at my sides and not around his shoulders where they so want to be.

"Like a shadow." Warm fingers tighten their grip around my arm in a show of affection, and then he leaves for Room 1, while I stand in the corridor, trying to remember when I last felt this happiness and coming up empty.

* * *

When I return to Julian's mansion, my prince is already waiting for me. "Daedalus, nice of you to join me. I assume you were at the hospital?" 

I compress my lips to bite back several sharp retorts. "You assume correctly."

He sighs. "I know I can't tell you how to conduct your private business, but you know that even talking to this mortal constitutes a breach of the Masquerade. I fail to see why you're willing to take such a risk merely to -"

"I don't believe you fail to see, Julian," I interrupt him. "Interacting with mortals is something all of you do every night. I agree that in my case it's a bit different -"

"I'll say it is!" he, in turn interrupts me.

I take a step closer to him and look into his eyes. "Julian, I trust Callum McKay. I'm convinced that his seeing me doesn't endanger us. No one is more aware than I that I owe it to all Kindred in this city and to my Clan in particular to take whatever steps are necessary to protect the Masquerade. I will do whatever needs to be done, should I deem it necessary. At the moment, I do not."

He looks at me a moment longer, than apparently decides to drop it. "Be that as it may, tomorrow night I'll need you by my side. There's some trouble with the Brujah, and I'm afraid it could end in hostilities."

I incline my head. "I stand ready to assist you, my Prince."

* * *

To be continued... 


	4. Convergence

**Chapter 4 - Convergence**

**_Callum_**

I am tossing and turning at night, finding no sleep. Finally I sit up in my damp nest, trying to catch my breath. I must have been sleeping after all, for I've been dreaming, and the dream is still lingering with me. Yet it was not what I had expected or at least intended to dream. When I drifted off, at the end of a long night, I had Daedalus on my mind. The man fascinates me, all about him intrigues me, he is a mystery – in short, he is as exotic a friend as can possibly lure me into his web of sin. What is more, he doesn't look even half human, but to my mind he behaves more human than most of the people I've ever come across. I wanted to think of his strange face, his voice that calms me so, his dangerous hands that, used to defend me, can be most reassuring. Defend me? Against what? And this is where the nightmares must have come in.

The ghosts of the past won't sleep. The ghosts of this recent past, here in this eerie ward, seem to call the other ones to the present even more and keep them alive, nourishing them with the negative reverberations each and every wall is still giving off. I take another deep breath and reach for the water bottle. For a moment, I feel as if he is watching me, trying to guard my sleep, and I find myself smiling. Then I realize that I am definitely on my own, and I recall that I still know nothing about him, and my half-hearted offer to make him kind of an informal "colleague" in order to keep an eye on him seems utterly unprofessional and negligent. It must be an excuse for something else. And yet...

Be honest to thyself, Callum: You do believe that this man is harmless. He is nothing like a madman, no more than yourself, and he does help you, and you need him because you have always needed a father figure to help you out and to guard you. You know that, and all you have to do is accept it!

Yes I know. But my conscience hasn't talked to me that loudly in months.

And I can't possibly be falling in love now, not under these circumstances, and not with this guy. As if I haven't promised myself to never ever fall in love again. As if those kinds of promises have ever been useful. As if I wasn't a psychologist. But I'm also human, and at the moment very vulnerable and yearning. I lean back and let myself drift off again, this time into the caressing arms of desire.

Coming to again, I realize that it is five minutes before my usual getting-up time. I switch off the alarm clock before it can cut through my morning stupor, and get to the shower straight away. I can feel the depression coming on strong, and I have to fight it back before it consumes me. The warm water running over my head and body is somewhat comforting, but, as always, it also opens mental passages that wanted to stay closed.

While I hold my face up into the jet, the memory washes over me again. Johnny! He wasn't innocent, but he was cute and he wanted to stay, and we had some kind of future plans going on. Then some of the boys got sick with this new kind of horror illness called HIV, and suddenly they started dying. Johnny was the first among them. I asked myself again and again why it wasn't me, why I stayed unharmed, maybe I was a bit more cautious, maybe simply lucky. But that's the way it was. The memory of him is as vivid as if it was just yesterday: I remember the day we met in that London club, I see his smile, one tooth missing, his spiky hair, and his wiry body when we made love. And it was love.

Then, like a different piece of scenery that falls over the nicer memories, I see his lean face, pale with emaciation, his eyes dying, dying while watching me cry, and I try to fight back the tears, but like then they won't be fought back, and here they come running, pressing out of me, and I cry, first sad and soft, and then more and more full of rage, until I realize the water has gone cold and my knuckles are hurting from hitting the tiles.

I step out into the steamy bathroom and have to lean on the wash basin, slowly getting my breath back to normal. I am here now, I am in charge. I have to be in charge of myself, too. I will call Sean in the afternoon in order to talk to someone who really knows me, and he will make things better, as always. And then, of course, I will see Daedalus in the evening. It is a reassuring prospect, and I feel much calmer now that I am thinking of him, again.

And duty is calling. I dress, pour myself one, two cups of coffee, and force Dr McKay to be his merry self for the rest of the day.

We can say good-bye to two of our children today, like always with mixed feelings, for I've really grown fond of them, and am also proud of myself that I've made them "run" again. Then I drag myself through my daily routine, caring a bit less for everything than I'd be supposed to, and being a bit more occupied with myself. The phone talk to Sean has to be postponed, he won't be home before Monday. Well, at least there's the weekend right in front of me, and I promise myself that I'll indulge in something nice this time, relax, get some fresh air, sort of thing.

I start getting a bit nervous around eleven at night. Daedalus hasn't arrived yet, and for the last two hours or so, I have repeatedly looked at the door handle, waiting for it to move, waiting for the door to give sight to my odd friend. But nothing happens. So, more than slightly disappointed, I make my rounds alone, feeling more and more deserted and utterly lonely, in spite of the children's presence, most of them being sound asleep anyway.

I know what it means to wait for someone, even for a close friend. I've done it so many times in my life. And I am sick and tired of it. This kind of thing always feeds my depression, I can't keep myself from thinking it has something to do with my imperfection, or maybe simply the fact that the others are aware I'm so nice and good-natured that it is easy to let me wait, because I won't chide them. I don't think that Daedalus is like them. In fact, my anger soon gives way to serious worrying.

Around two o'clock in the morning, I go back to my quarters, hoping to find him there or on his way, or at least somewhere around. But he won't appear. I lie down on my sofa, unwilling to go to bed, filled with worry and deeply pitying myself. Suddenly, the phone rings, and disturbs my soft slumber. I pick it up, disregarding the fact that the desk clock shows 4.48 am, and Julian Luna's voice rings in my ear. He sounds very different. He actually sounds hurt, and worried, and exhausted, and the words he says will stay in my memory for a long time: "Dr McKay, you must come immediately. Daedalus is dying."

Luna's car is waiting for me at the side exit. He hasn't told me what happened, but then again, I wouldn't give him much time to explain, because the words "deadly wounded" and "blood loss" are enough to make me work on auto pilot. So I come out there loaded down with my physician's bag enriched with whatever surgical stuff I could grab, a blood transfusion kit, an infusion kit, and a bag full of – well, stuff to use with the kits.

I don't even take notice of who is driving me where, but then I come to and realize that we have stopped in front of some dark alley, just in front of Luna himself. He is surrounded by a couple of sinister guys, and he doesn't look so well himself. I step forward, dragging my equipment behind me, "Mr Luna, you look as if you've been hurt, too." But he just raises his hand to show me that there are things more pressing than his own well-being. I obey, and follow him into the alley. I feel watched, not in the normal sense, but more – as grandma would put it – scrutinized from above 'n below – and what is more, not by the usual all-in-all human category. But then I see Daedalus, and I am too distracted to take notice of anything else, my thoughts filled with the deadly fear that I might be too late to save him.

He is lying in a corner on top of some rubbish sacks, with more guys by his side, but I ignore them, as one look at my poor friend tells me that I might indeed be too late. His clothes are burnt away, his upper body has been torn open by something like a mega-calibre shot. The edge of his wound looks like it's been cauterised, and the tormented flesh smells of something chemical. I take his hand in mine – and am interrupted by a rasping voice, saying: "You shouldn't do that." I look up and into a pair of yellowish eyes that now turn towards Julian, and the rasping voice asks: "What's this man doin' here?" Julian, his face shining almost white in the light of his car, answers, "I called him here. It is all right, Frederick."

I take that as a sign to carry on, and try to find Daedalus' pulse. Actually, I cannot find any pulse at all. Then I look into his eyes, and I know, I know now that this is not a human being I have in front of me. I look at Julian Luna, my mind racing with things I must ask, I must know, yet knowing there is no time for questions of any sort. So I settle for asking the only question left at the moment: "Has anyone of his kind survived this before?"

Luna just shakes his head and then turns away abruptly, mumbling, "Do whatever lies in your power, Doctor. You shall be rewarded adequately." I carefully approach him and turn him round again to face me. The fact that he lets me do this tells me how much he is suffering. His eyes are brimming with some kind of tears, blood-red though, but this is also just a minor fact that won't keep me from my duty now. "You must listen to me, Julian. There's no time to lose. What kind of weapon did this?"

He pulls himself together. "It was a gun shell filled with phosphorus."

"Which means he is being burnt alive by acid. Nice." I take a deep breath, urging myself to go on. "Now, please: Get me two big bowls, tubs preferably, and lots and lots of water. Do you hear me? And then get some thugs to hold on to him, because this will hurt. Right. Anything else? What does he need?"

Julian Luna appears to be as distrusting as I would have thought he is. "What do you intend to do, McKay?" he says without looking at me.

"I intend to save Daedalus' life, Mr Luna," I retort, adding in a slightly more polite tone of voice, "I will wash it out. That's the only thing we can do now, clean the wound, get out as much of the phosphorus as possible."

Julian, who has already started to give orders to some people somewhere in the dark, turns to look at me again, this time slightly amazed. "You are amazingly nonchalant about this whole situation, Doctor McKay," he says.

I explain: "Well, I'm no idiot. In his case, feeding probably doesn't require using the usual kind of nourishment, am I right? So, what does he need? This?" I show him a blood bag.

He looks at the reddish baggy, and then gives a slight nod. "The danger is the phosphorus mixing with his blood. It's going to kill him if we don't get ready before the sun rises..."

I follow his glance to the sky, where the first pink traces of dawn start colouring the grey of the night, my mind racing. Blood, sun, claws, teeth... Well, I won't jump to conclusions here, but there are some commonplace thoughts that scream at you at times like these. So, he is a vampire. So what. I'm involved, and what is more, I'm still alive, and he needs me, so I'll help. And that's it. If somebody small and green asked me to help him surgically remove a piece of kryptonite from his four-toed footie, I'd probably help him just the same.

In a hurry, I start preparing the blood transfusion. Luna seems again unwilling to help me, so I merely ignore his presence. Meanwhile, the tubs have arrived, one of them magically filled with water, together with loads of towels. Ordering two of Luna's people (who, to my slight surprise, obey) to hold on to Daedalus, I sit down by his side and cut away the rest of his clothes. His wound looks dreadful, even to the eye of an experienced surgeon, and it reminds me why I didn't want to go into forensics. The flesh has been burnt away, and what is left looks more than anything like some kind of yellowish pudding. Whatever I'm gonna do, if this doesn't kill him, nothing will.

So, in order to keep him alive before exposing him to my unconventional methods, I set to start the transfusion. His veins are hard to find, they seem to be as empty as those of a corpse prepared for Situs, but I finally find one and ram the cannula in. Seconds later, the first blood preserve is on its way into Daedalus' maltreated circulation. The effect is astounding: after the first seconds his eyes open, blazing red, and without recognizing anyone around him, he grabs the blood preserve, rips it from the valve and sucks it dry.

I must admit that this is not something I would ever have thought of witnessing, and it does take me aback. The effect the blood seems to have on his skin, his veins, the coordination of his movements, though, convinces me that this is what the patient needs, thus this is what he'll get. Trying hard to remain cool, I take another blood bag and push the valve between Daedalus' lips. The look Julian gives me (and the bag) doesn't really make me feel better, but those thoughts will have to be postponed until later.

So, without hesitating any further, I announce action, take the first of the towels, soak it to dripping and plunge it into the wound.

Had I still thought that my friend was human, I would certainly stand corrected now. He behaves like nothing human, more like a wild animal, and "reptile" is again the most apt comparison I can think of. In other words, the two men who try to hold him down just can't manage, and the fact that my patient is indeed armed with imposing talons and a set of teeth Dracula himself would have sold his cloak for, has already led to some collateral damage.

This is where Julian finally gets out of his funk and rushes to help. He holds Daedalus' head in his hands and talks to him soothingly, with the astonishing effect that my patient calms down as fast as he had his fit. I grab the soaked towel, which now has a yellowish tint, and drop it into the empty tub. Then I grab the next one and continue washing out the deadly acid.

While going on with my dreadful task, I find some time to have a closer look at my two assistants who are still holding on to Daedalus, obviously because our lives are depending on it. They look a bit like him, one of them (the one with the yellowish eyes) being smaller and leaner, with the exception of his head, which seems to be held up by sheer power of will. The other one is about my size, but much stouter, and covered with greenish abscesses wherever the skin shows. The smaller one takes notice of my questioning glance, and looks at me shyly. For a moment, I hesitate, asking myself if they need my professional help, too, but some inner voice tells me that this is their normal complexion. So I just smile back at them and go back to work.

Some time later (time hasn't had any meaning to me from the moment I received that phone call), the towels are gone, the water tub is almost empty, and three more blood bags have been disposed of. Julian is still sitting by Daedalus' head, but he is watching me now. I return his gaze and smile. He can't bring himself to smile back at me, but at least I know he is as relieved as I am. "Will he live, then?" I ask him.

Before Julian can answer me, Daedalus opens his eyes again and says: "You did good, Callum." His voice is still weak, and his face is smeared with the leftovers of his bloody meal, but I recognize his smile and answer it warmly, taking his hand. The other two let got of his arms now and literally start licking their wounds.

Disregarding this as minor, I look back into Daedalus' face, note that his eyes are back to normal, and give a sigh of relief, "You know, you shouldn't do that to me too often, it's doing nae guid to my heart."

"I'm sorry you have to see me like this," Daedalus answers.

Before I can answer something soppy, Julian interrupts harshly: "I am sorry to intrude, but we are on a schedule."

Daedalus seems to take notice of his friend only now and replies: "Julian, I'm glad to see you're okay."

Although he is still weak, I cannot miss the irony in his voice. I also perceive a slight change in Julian's expression, so I take it the sting hit home. Looking from one to the other, I add two and two together, and it dawns on me that it should really be Julian lying there. So, this is what it's all about. I could have guessed that Daedalus has something to do with Luna, or at least something in common, but I wouldn't have thought that he is working for him as his bodyguard.

I have to say something. And I hear myself say, "Hey, folks, the sun's coming up." And with this I try to help Daedalus to his feet. His wound hasn't healed after all, and he doesn't half manage to get up, and then his friends/relatives/whatever step in, saying, "Maybe it would be a good idea if you let us do this."

Watching them do so, I come to stand by Julian's side. Julian, turning to me, says: "We'll take my car."

And I can't keep myself from replying, "Your place or mine?" And then, before he can come back with an adequate answer, I add: "I am sorry, but my patient isn't well enough for me to desert him now. Besides, a simple thank you would have done nicely."

He seems unruffled, "You will have an opportunity to continue his treatment, doctor."

"Fine. When?"

"Now."

"Good. But I'll stay with him, in whatever car he goes."

They carry Daedalus into one of the two cars while Julian keeps glaring at me, and ignoring him, I get in beside my patient, placing his head on my lap. The two who have been carrying him say something like, "So long, Excellency," and melt into the shadows. Some guy in a leather jacket I hadn't noticed before takes his place at the driver's, then Julian gets into the other car, and we start.

This time, I am more observant as to where we're going, and we are entering a part of San Francisco I haven't been to before. Through a huge iron gate, up a driveway, and we stop in front of an imposing building, presumably Luna Manor. The master gets out of the car and strolls to ours as if he is hesitant to see me again, whereas the other two (the ones that were helping me before) turn up from somewhere, quickly open the door of the car we're in and help me get Daedalus out. Then Julian takes the lead, and we follow him to the gatehouse.

We go through a couple of aisles and down a few steps until we arrive in what seems to be Daedalus' private quarters. The air is thick with a mixture of dust, turpentine and something else, some vaguely familiar sweetish smell I slowly identify as rat. They round another corner and lay him down on a bed, and now Julian realizes that I will indeed attend my patient and not be moved. He seems on the verge of saying something, but he swallows it down whatever it was to be, and turns on his heel and exits without further comment.

As I sit down by Daedalus' side I notice a change about his complexion and pose. Whereas he seemed merely weakened and sore in that dark alley, he looks very close to real death now. I put my hand on his forehead, saying under my breath, "Don't you dare die on me now, old man."

Then one of the other guys, the one with the hydrocephalus and the rasping voice, steps forward and says: "The boss is gonna be all right, Doc. Thanks to you."

As I won't reply at once, he just stands there, watching me. He seems unworried, so whatever it is that makes Daedalus look so strange, it obviously isn't terminal. I look from him to my patient, and back to him, and his huge dark unblinking eyes make me smile. He stands there like a child, unsure how to deal with me, a bit shy maybe, and yet I have seen him act, I see his talons, I know how strong he must be. My smile seems to irritate him even more, but then he just sits down by Daedalus' other side, and sets his face to what looks to me like dutiful attention.

Again, I look at the unfamiliar yet somehow likeable face. „You do care for him a lot, don't you?"

He turns away, mumbling something like, "'Course I do, he's the boss'n all…" his voice even hoarser.

Here's emotion on the go, and I don't know how his kind reacts, so, in order to simplify matters, I switch to the objective level by asking him about his name. He tells me that he's called Frederick.

"Are you brothers?" I go on asking.

Frederick looks at me wide-eyed (something he's really good at). "What? No! He's way older'n me. His Sire must've been, like, ancient. No, I'm of the brood of Gary."

"Brood," I repeat. "Ah. And a sire is... something like a father? Or, like a… begetter?"

Now, Frederick seems to become suspicious. "Listen, is it okay for you to know all this? I probably shouldn't even talk to you, man."

I give him an agreeing nod. "And yet you are. And as it happens, I am quite happy to be in this position. You know, I won't leave Daedalus alone, and sitting here on my own wouldn't improve my disposition. Now that we're talking, I can at least start to learn something about him. About you. That helps."

This seems to suffice for Frederick to go on talking. "Oh, okay. Well, if you're here, I suppose it must be okay…" He looks at Daedalus with a slightly scornful smile. „And he can't tell me not to either, right now."

"Riotous, huh?" I comment on his momentary position.

Instead of an answer, he gives off a noise that clearly indicates he isn't familiar with the more complicated vernacular. Somehow, I am relieved that here is someone who I can talk to in however basic way I like, and after the horrible night, that's just what I need. So I explain to him politely, "I mean, now that the boss is unconscious, you can have a little game of your own."

In spite of his rhetorical ignorance, he is well aware of what I'm implying, and his tone of voice is very specific now. "I'm not playin' games. I just meant that, if the Prince says it's okay, and the boss won't contradict him, then it's okay. Besides, I like you." Without warning, he leans over Daedalus' unmoving body, his face only an inch or two from my face, and looking me deep in the eye he repeats, "Yep, I like you."

I have to hold that stare, but it's hard. Anyway, I still don't fear this man. So I simply exhale and reply, "That's nice. And as for the Prince, he's pissed. But don't tell him I told you so. But if you like, I will explain everything to Daedalus once he's come to again."

"He won't be doin' that before dusk, yanno. And the Prince is plenty pissed, I noticed that all on my lonesome. But, fact is, if he didn't want you here, you wouldn't be here."

Remembering the last glance Julian threw me, I agree. "Right. Suppose you're right." Then I remember that I'm soon due for work, and I add: "Does the boss have a phone around here?"

Frederick stands up in one swift movement. "Sure. Hang on." He opens one of the drawers somewhere and takes out a very modern-looking cell phone. „Here ye go."

"Great," I say while trying to find out which key is which, and finally being able to call the hospital. While I listen to the ringing tone, I remark casually, „Like to share a fag?"

This doesn't have the desired effect. In fact, Frederick looks as if I've said something forbidden. "Nope, and you shouldn't, either. Inden... incent… burnin' stuff, yanno."

I don't get what's wrong with that, and distractedly say something like "Because of the paint?" Then I hear the ringing voice of nurse Julia, and signal him to hang on. Julia seems to be relieved to hear my voice, hence I guess they found out that I'm not in right now. I make something up about a sick uncle and take the day off, but I promise I'll be back for the night. After exchanging some niceties, I hang up again, turn to Frederick and smile.

Frederick just stares at me for some time and finally says: „What now?"

I dare to imitate the movement he made before and stare back at him. „We talk."

„About what? I don't know too much about small talk stuff."

"Then we'd better have it big, huh?"

He doesn't seem to find this funny. "Like what?"

I take a deep breath. Stay objective, Callum. Emotions can wait. "Like, what are you? Where do you come from? What do you do for a living? That kind of stuff."

This time it works and he answers: "I see, the basics. Okay. I'm Nosferatu. I was human once, then Gary offered me a way out of the dump I was livin' in and the shit hole of my life. I took it. I eat rats and a street bum here 'n there, and I'm second to the boss." He grins at me. „Got all that, Doc?"

Obediently, I restate: "You were a human once, and now you are a Nosferatu. This circumstance helped you out of your misery. You live on a healthy, if a bit unbalanced diet – in accordance with your heritage, I presume – and you have the position of a lieutenant general. Yes, I think I've got that in one."

Frederic rewards me with a mock-respectful bow. "Wow, it sure pays to go to college, don't it?"

"Well, at least it pays the college," I can't keep myself saying that.

"Smart ass," he retorts. "I can see why the boss is so obsessed with you, though. You understand him."

This catches me off-guard. "Obsessed?" I remember my own reactions to Daedalus, my dreams, and suddenly I realize that I'm not the only one of the two of us who feels this way. "Oh." What is more, I can feel the blush rising in my chest.

But Frederick isn't finished yet. "Well, as they say, you can't fight true love." In another mock gesture he covers his mouth with his hand. „Oops."

I have to get up and walk around the premises a bit before he can detect anything else beside the blush. It's not that the blush in my chest is wandering up to my face only, it is also wandering downwards... Strolling along the aisle that leads to the entrance, I see strange paintings, and I guess that Daedalus has painted all of them. Unexpectedly, I find one with myself smiling back at me, and I suddenly feel I should sit down again. This is too much. Trying to cover up my excitement, I close my eyes for a moment, feeling utterly exposed to the only other conscious person in this room, and sadly think back of the days bygone, the happiness that will never come back again. I feel Frederick's eyes on me, and say: „Yes, you're right. If it's true love, you possibly cannot fight it."

Frederick doesn't cease to look at me, and I'm not quite sure he has grasped the true meaning of my words. At last he says, „I sure hope he didn't hear that. Sorry, boss… I didn't mean to spill the beans like this." He comes to stand by my side and scrutinizes the painting. „Oh well, you'd've gotten it anyway, I s'spect."

I hurry back to the bedstead and sit down again. „I didn't know." It's more a statement to the general world than to anybody in particular. I touch Daedalus' forehead with my fingertips and tell him, whether he can hear me or not: "I should have known."

Frederick is by my side again without a sound, but his voice sounds soothing. "Don't worry, Doc. He ain't exactly the outgoin' type. And I'm glad to see that you like him, too, a bit. The boss needs that," Once more slightly embarrassed, he makes a hole in his black jeans with one of his talons. „It's what keeps the colour in our cheeks, know what I mean?" It's more what he doesn't say that tells the rest of the story.

I know what he means. And, it's been a long time since I had that special "colour" in my cheeks, too. But right now I'm too tired to go on talking, so I just say: "Yeah, right." I feel the night weighing down on me, and have to stifle a yawn. "It must be what, seven or so? God, I'm tired."

"You could crash for a few, Doc. I'm keepin' an eye on the boss for you."

I'm even too tired to think straight, so I just ask him: "Got a pillow?"

This seems to take him by surprise. "You're not going upstairs?"

"I told Julian I won't leave Daedalus until he comes to," I mumble, "and that is what I'm gonna do."

"Suit yourself." Frederick looks around, stands up, grabs Daedalus' tuxedo and rolls it into a kind of pillow. „Here, take this."

I gratefully grab the jacket. "Just as well. I've been sleeping in haystacks. This is much nicer." And it smells of him, too. So I lie down on the floor next to Daedalus' bed, put my head on the tux pillow and am instantly carried away by the gods of sleep.

* * *

To be continued... 


	5. Confessions

**Chapter 5 - Confessions**

* * *

For disclaimer see Chapter 1

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

Becoming aware of myself once more, I am inundated by a multitude of impressions; pain, a sensation of heat in my chest, the lingering sense of danger, and hunger. I drag my eyes open, surprised at how weak I am. Some memory of last night returns – if last night it was, I'm not sure. A renegade Brujah frenzied when his Primogen questioned him, a gunfight ensued, Julian was targeted, I reacted... Pain and confusion take over for a moment, but before I can follow my instincts and flee or hide in the shadows, I hear the voice of my mortal friend Callum. "Get off, you oaf. Take that to your boss, he needs it more than me, Freddy."

He sounds normal, peaceful, so whatever happened to me must be in the past. I realize I am in my own bed, in my haven. How did I get here? I'm injured. Did I hurt anyone? Is Julian all right?

Frederick pokes his head around the corner of my inner sanctuary, and then approaches me, holding four rats. I almost growl at the sight of them, but then I remember that Callum is here, probably close. I don't see him, but I can hear the sound of cutlery and dishes being used, and the strong smell of coffee is in the air. With enormous effort, I keep myself from ripping the rats apart to get at their blood faster and making a mess of my bedstead in the process, but still I manage to slow down only slightly when my first hunger is appeased.

Suddenly, Callum is there. "Cheers."

A futile impulse makes me want to hide the last rat I am drinking from, but then I realize that he's already seen me suck blood from the animal, and I'm ashamed. How could he take me for anything more than an animal myself after he witnessed this?

"I see my patient has come to," he says gently, apparently not in the least disgusted. "How are you?"

Acutely aware of the rat blood staining my hands and face, I try to wipe away the traces, but without resorting to using my tongue (impossible!) it is a lost cause. "I'm... better. Callum, what are you... I mean… It's good to see you." That's an understatement. My turbulent emotions make me want to take his hand and hold it, and only the fact that then he would surely see my blooded talons gives me the strength to hold back.

Frederick's appearance around the corner saves me from more embarrassment. "Okay, boss, I'll be going. Have a nice night."

I nod in acknowledgment. He must have kept watch over me in my weakened state. I am fortunate to have someone as trustworthy as him.

"Have a good one, Freddy," Callum calls cheerfully.

He never ceases to amaze me. Frederick may be one of my less ugly clansmen, but still... it appears Callum befriended him as if Frederick were no different from a mortal. "I see you've met my second."

"Yes, and I like him a lot."

That, I can believe. Frederick is easy to talk to, even if he acts a bit under-educated. But he's always been able to follow me, and he's also one of the best fighters currently in my Clan – fast, agile, deadly. "He's… competent. Don't let his manner fool you."

He looks at me gravely. "I didn't." He sits down on my bed and smiles at me. His presence is like the soothing sound of rain onto a canopy of leaves, and I can feel myself relax. "Makes good coffee, too."

Helplessly, I smile back, feeling at ease and free of last night's events for the first time since waking up. Now that my mind is finally clear again, I remember what happened, and Callum's role in it. "You've saved my life, Callum," I say softly. It is a debt I can never repay.

"Yes, I did," he says gravely. "It was close, Daedalus."

"I know. I had no choice." It was my life or Julian's, and that was a choice with no choice. My young Ventrue friend would not have survived the projectile of a Dragon's Breath gun, but I am so much older than him. I had a chance.

And, apparently, I also had Callum to aid me.

He waves away my argument. "Let's just say you were lucky, okay? I can only guess about the job you have with Julian, and it's none of my business. Thus, you don't need to explain anything to me. The few little things Freddy has told me are sufficient to give me an inkling of the kind of Pandora's Box I'd be about to open."

"It's been my experience that knowledge is better than ignorance, and you have learned too much already. Knowing more won't make a difference."

He looks at me sternly. "You can't try that hypnotizing stuff on me any more."

"Callum, it's much too late for that. Nor would I want to. I'm committed to this course of action, and Julian has at least tacitly allowed me to proceed, or you wouldn't be here." In truth, there are only three ways out for Callum at this point, and only one of them I'll accept. Embrace. Callum will have to become one of us now.

With a heavy heart I watch him look around my sanctuary. Unbeknownst to him, his last days as a mortal have begun. He didn't ask for this. His only mistake was befriending me. By being kinder to me than any human ever was, he gave up his lease on mortal life.

"Amazing," he muses. "You're an amateur psychologist, a body-guard, a painter – and a good one at that – what else is it you're hiding behind those beautiful sad eyes of yours?"

It is like a physical blow. My emotions, still too close to the surface after all that happened, surge up like a heat wave behind my eyes. He called me beautiful... No one has ever done that before. Fighting for control, I turn my face away and clench my teeth to keep from letting the sobs escape.

"Hey," he says softly. "I didn't want to hurt your feelings." And then I feel his hand on my face as he tries to make me look at him. His warm, mortal hand on my face.

The feelings are too strong, or I am too weak to hold them in. I can only lie there, eyes closed, as the blood-tears leak out from under my lids. Ridicule, scorn, insult, even hate I can withstand with stoicism – yet kindness I have no defense against.

I feel cloth on my face as Callum wipes away the bloody stains, and then, wordlessly, he takes my hand and holds it.

"I'm sorry," I force out. "You haven't done anything, it's just… a little too much."

How am I supposed to resist the devastating effects of kindness when I'm not even sure I want to resist? Looking at our entwined hands, I realize that this is something I don't ever want to be without again: His normal, beautiful hand holding my misshapen paw with its bloodstained talons. He could strike me down now, drain me dry, extinguish me, and I wouldn't even fight him as long as he held my hand and stroked my face while doing it.

The ultimate weapon against the fearsome Nosferatu: hug him.

Amidst my tears, I smile at the silly thought. But at least, I can now control myself enough to calm down and stop the embarrassing display of emotion. Maybe it's possible to develop a resistance, if only he does it often enough? At the moment, he seems determined to inure me against his effect, as our hands are still clasped and he makes no move to let go.

"How long can you stay?" I ask finally, reluctantly. "It's evening already. What about the children?"

He nods. "In fact, I'll have to leave quite soon. I took the day off to stay by your side, but, yes, the kids do need me."

So, he did stay here all day, saw me at my worst and my lowest. He now knows all about me, and still he smiles at me. I have, indeed, found a friend.

Right on the heels of that heady thought follows my usual fear that this will be the last I'll ever see of him, that he'll somehow be snatched away from me by fate if I let him out of my sight now. "I'll follow you later tonight," I blurt.

He looks at me reproachfully over the rim of his glasses. "If you think so..."

On top of everything, he's worried about me! I try to look stronger than I feel. "I'll be fine by then. Don't worry."

"I look forward to seeing you vertical." With that, he gets up and leaves me to my thoughts.

* * *

I am not alone for long. Light steps on the stairway leading to the mansion wake me from the healing slumber I must have slipped into and inform me that I'm about to have another visitor. It's not hard to guess who that might be.

The blood I've drunk has greatly speeded up my recovery. My wound has closed completely, and I'm able to get out of bed and into my shirt and vest with minimal discomfort and just in time to greet Julian.

"Daedalus, good to see you're up and about," my Prince says, his relief unmistakable. "How are you feeling?"

"Much improved, thank you, Julian."

I wave him to a seat so I can sit down myself. Despite my words, almost meeting my Final Death is not something I can brush off easily after all, it appears. Aggravated by phosphorus burns, the injury will take some time to heal completely.

Julian sits down in my chair while I draw up the wooden crate and gratefully sink down on it, making a mental note to get a second chair for visitors. Caine's teeth, I hate to feel weak and helpless like this!

He regards me critically. "You're still looking a little pale." He smiles suddenly, falling back on an old joke. "Paler than normal, I mean."

I incline my head to acknowledge his words and the meaning behind them, and for a moment, we both remember how we first met. "Oh my God, you're pale!" were Julian's words when he saw me in the woods near his home in Manzanita. He was still mortal then, and although Archon Raine had told me of his plans to Embrace the young man and had already obtained Julian's permission, that had been his first encounter with a Nosferatu.

He'd taken it surprisingly well.

"I'm almost recovered," I assure him. "Was anyone else injured?"

"Cameron has taken a few slashes trying to overpower Bertie, but he was healed within the hour. Bertie is destroyed. Cash got him before he could fire another shot at me."

I nod. Frenzy or not, attacking a Prince is punishable by Final Death. And Bertie, undoubtedly, had served other nefarious purposes in this domain. It's good that we could identify him in this manner before he was able to wreak serious havoc.

"Thank you for saving my life, Daedalus," Julian says formally. "It would have been... undignified to meet my Final Death at the hands of a Brujah neonate."

I nod wordlessly. That's one way of putting it.

"But I must ask you to never do that again." He's turned quite serious. "Do you understand me? Never again sacrifice your existence to save mine. You are not worth less than I am, do you hear me?"

"I accepted the risk."

"If it hadn't been for the human doctor, you'd be extinguished by now." He looks at me with an expression I almost have to call pleading. "As a personal favor to me, Daedalus, please don't save me again. Not at the risk of your Final Death."

I regard him calmly. "You know that I can't do that, Julian. But maybe we can compromise. I won't save you - if you don't invite your own Final Death."

He gives a slight smile. "Sometimes, that can't be avoided."

"My point exactly."

"I see."

We sit in silence for a moment.

"We've got to talk about something else," he changes the subject.

"About Callum. I know."

"What do you intend to do about him?" Julian demands. "He's seen you and Frederick. He's not stupid, and it's a foregone conclusion that he guessed what you are, maybe even what I am. He's endangering the Masquerade."

"I know." Final Death may yet be in my future. Julian is my friend, but he's also the Prince of this city. After what happened, he can't cover for me any longer. "I can't embrace him into Nosferatu Clan, Julian. It would ruin his life. He's a doctor. A man whose purpose in life is to help others. Cursed by my blood, he couldn't be that anymore. It would drive him insane."

He frowns. "You know that if he's not embraced, he'll have to be killed or turned into a ghoul."

I draw a breath. "I want you to embrace him."

Not too long ago, I made the same request of Julian. Then, he refused me. But now, he has no reason. Ventrue are often doctors, and he must have seen, as I did, that Callum would make an excellent addition to Julian's Clan.

He looks at me, an expression of surprise in his face, but then he smiles. "Well, we both know that being Ventrue does not keep one from being friends with a Nosferatu."

I smile back at him, feeling warmed at this proof that he's stopped sulking. His friendship means much to me. Among all the Kindred I've known, he's the one I could stand to lose least of all.

"And I do owe him your life," he continues intensely, his brown eyes not leaving mine, "just as I owe you mine. Very well. If he agrees, I'll embrace him."

I incline my head. "I'll ask him tonight."

* * *

To be continued... 


	6. Revelation

**Chapter 6 - Revelation**

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* * *

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For Disclaimer see Chapter 1

* * *

_**Callum**_

I take a cab back to the hospital, say hello to the night nurses, stop by my room for a shower (and I urgently need one), and then start my late night round. I am still on a high due to a mixture of lack of sleep and general excitement. The children can feel it too, and none of them is sleeping. And everywhere I come the little ones ask me about Daedalus. Is he sick? Is he on holidays? Did something happen to him? It takes all the self-control I have not to give in to the emotions that try to come up, but I can do it, I can even spread white lies about him and say he's just taken a night off and he'll probably be back tonight.

While telling them, I feel that it is the straw I am clutching at.

I won't be able to withhold this from Daniel. As soon as I enter his room, he comes running to me, as if he had been kept in the picture via some strange telepathic vibrations. I hug him and tell him that everything is fine, and Daedalus will come to see him later this night. He calms down a bit, but then he looks up at me with his bright blue eyes and says, "You must tell me what happened. I know he isn't well."

Apart from the joy that he is finally talking to me, I cannot give in to that challenge now. I simply look at him and remain earnest. " He just had this little accident, Daniel. Nothing serious, really. He'll be fine." I know he won't buy it, either, but maybe the information will be sufficient for him, after all, no matter how poor it is.

A look at his face tells me that he is still very much concerned. "An accident? Was he hurt?"

I shake my head, forcing a smile. "No, Daniel. He is quite all right. As I told you, he'll pay you a visit later tonight."

This seems to finally soothe him. He sits down at his little table again, but as if to chide me for my bad excuses, he won't talk any more. I move closer and look at the hieroglyphs and the other strange and fantastic pictures he has painted. They look so vivid, so colorful that I can understand why Daniel and Daedalus seem to be connected by an invisible affinity; a congeniality of spirits.

The thought gives me a sting, reminding me that I will have to send Daniel away soon; much too soon. In any case, I couldn't hold him longer than a month's time. He talks again now, he is physically stable, psychologically you never know, and the authorities don't really care as long as the tests are all right; which they are. If I made a statement in my report that he was psychologically unstable I would only condemn him to life in an institution, and I won't do that to him. I can't, however, keep him from being dumped in one of the local orphanages. It hurts to know that. And I won't even dream how I should break this to Daedalus.

I swallow back the lump in my throat and sit down by Daniel's side. "Hey, these pictures are amazing. Is this how they decorated their pyramids?"

It is fascinating to see how a simple change of subject can make Daniel 'work' again. He nods enthusiastically and while I have to force myself to keep my eyes open, he starts telling me incredible facts about ancient Egypt and the different forms of art in the different dynasties. He calls them complicated names, and can but believe him, as he seems to be an expert on this topic. He sometimes almost clutters, I can hardly slow him down, and when he finally gives me a chance to butt in, I say: "You know so much about that, Daniel, I am proud of you. And I believe you will study archaeology later on, won't you?"

This doesn't have the desired effect, and too late I remember that both his parents were archaeologists. So I add hurriedly: "Well, this can wait till later, can't it now. Hey, I love your pictures. May I hang some of them up in our corridors? How about that, huh?"

It sufficiently cheers him up, and when I finally leave him, he gives me a hard time sending him to bed again, because he is dying to start sketches for the walls right now. But then, I found out that if you manage to get children into bed and by means of a stupid excuse convince them to shut their eyes, they fall asleep almost instantly, at least most of the time; which is a bit mean, but very convenient.

On the way back to my sleeping quarters, I meet my dear and very pale friend, Daedalus. I step towards him with sincere relief. "How very nice to meet you here, dear."

Daedalus, still moving stiffly like people use to move when they were badly hurt and don't want to show, forces a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Callum."

There's something else behind his composure, and I gesture towards my room. In silence we go into the office and sit down on the sofa. I sense that Daedalus is going to tell me something important, and it probably has to do with the past night, so I try to work through the emotional part as fast as possible to let him break the news to me. "You're pale, you know." I grin encouragingly, "I'd offer you tea, if I knew it would do any good."

Here it comes. He pretends not to perceive my amiability, retorting: "There is an important matter we have to discuss."

I know I won't like this, but I let myself in for his little game, as it obviously makes getting over with it easier for him, so I give him the best innocent expression I am capable of at this time of night. "So formal?" I have to stand up again so that he can't see my face, for after all, I'm not such a good long term actor, and pouring myself a cup of tea from the thermos flask I remark quite casually: "I bet it's got to do with Julian."

With my back still turned towards him, I hear him answer: "In a way."

I turn back, and looking at him say: "Spit it out, then."

Daedalus is very good at this, but even he seems to be uncomfortable with my apparent ease. I remain leaning at the sideboard, the mug in my hands, to allow him to keep some distance. It works, and he finally says: "It's not easy to put in words. First, I must apologize for springing this on you like this." His expression is very stern now. "You have been witness to something no mortal may witness without... consequences. It endangers the Masquerade. It endangers all of us."

I let Dr McKay keep the steering wheel, feeling my jaw set although I'm smiling. "I see. And I bet the usual oath thing won't be sufficient, huh?"

"No. There are precisely four alternatives."

Come on, Daedalus, you'll manage to tell me. I'm anticipating it anyway. But I go on playing. "Let me guess. You could… do the hypnotizing thing again, you could kill me, you could… do something else to make me forget, or…?"

"I could kill you, alter your memory, embrace you - that is turn you into one of us, or I could blood-bind you." Ah, finally he gets to the point. With a mirthless smile on his pale lips, he goes on. "I will do none of those things, but Julian will. Julian Luna will embrace you."

"Sweet Julian wants to embrace me?" I can't help but grin now. "Wouldn't be the worst of choices, really."

But Daedalus does not go along with my gallows humor, he seems more in the mood of the final harbinger. "We don't embrace without consent. You will know beforehand everything it entails. I will answer any question you may have. But know this: Being embraced by Julian Luna is not only a great honor, but it also means that you will be part of his Clan."

"Why can't you embrace me, then?" I can't keep myself from saying this, nor can I keep my eyelids from fluttering a bit. "I'd like that much more."

Of course, he stops in his tracks for a moment. When he goes on explaining the basics to me, his expression is a hint milder. "Callum, you wouldn't want that. The Nosferatu Embrace not only makes you Kindred, it also distorts you physically. I could never do that to you. It would curse you to live my life. You would be unable to continue living among humans. You would be forced to hide underground, like I am. In time, you would come to hate me for doing that to you."

It is more than a little speech for him, and while he's talking I let the impressions of the last night pass in front of my mind's eye. I think of Frederick and the others, and I suddenly know why they look so strange, and that they obviously didn't look like that before the change. Then I remember the painting Daedalus made of me, and the warm tide washes over me again. So much passion, so much desire, and all this in a body that is condemned to be shunned by humanity. Without a second thought, I put my hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I understand only now what you must be going through every single day. The things Frederick said, the picture, the vaults… Your sad eyes… I should have known…" I know it might be utterly wrong in this kind of situation, yet I give in to the urge to stroke his cheek, and right now it feels like we've known each other for much longer. "Tell me one thing, Daedalus. If Julian does this to me, will I then be able to like you as much as I like you now?"

Daedalus is very still, although the touch made him start, and it seems he must get through this now, his voice sounding hollow as if coming from far away. "It is not unprecedented, if unlikely. Julian himself has always been able to transcend Clan barriers. As his childe, you might inherit this tendency. Also, strong emotions sometimes survive the embrace. I won't deny that there's a risk, but in your case, I'd say you have pretty good odds."

Now we have a change of attitude. First he was the executioner, whereas now he sounds more like a good old chap who only does his duty. I like this approach much better and join in. "Sounds good to me. What's the name of that clan, then?"

"Ventrue. They're also called Blue Bloods when they can't hear it. They are the leading Clan, the lawyers, doctors, politicians. Often, the Princes. They are characterized by a certain… aloofness, ruthlessness even. But again, Julian proves that there are exceptions to any rule."

This catches me off-guard. "Really?" I can hardly imagine Julian proving in any way that he can be more than exactly that, but of course Daedalus knows him so much better… "Aloofness, huh?" But I also can't imagine me being any different from what I'm now, apart from the usual development most of us are going through; which I hope will never stop. Suddenly I have the strong desire to move, I get up and start pacing the room. "Just let me think for a moment or two, okay?"

"You should think about it much longer than that, Callum. It is literally a life-changing decision." Daedalus sounds literally dead serious again.

Without stopping, I say: "Three more questions. First, will I be able to continue my work?"

"Yes, most certainly," he answers promptly. "As I said, Ventrue are often –"

I interrupt him. "Yeah, you told me. Secondly, what about the night-and-day problem?"

"We can move in daylight, provided we take certain… precautions. But the sun is still dangerous for us."

I'm in the right mood now: past high spirits, past midnight, and past the point of no return. "Haven't seen daylight a lot since I started working here. And the precautions consist of something red and liquid, I presume?"

There he has to smile. "Yes. We don't need a lot of blood, and no mortal has to die to sate our hunger. In fact, it is forbidden by law to kill a mortal."

"Wait." I stop and gesticulate. "The only thing I know about you and your kind, apart from the things Frederick told me, is that there will have to be some… well, killing involved when you're being changed. Right?"

Daedalus answers my stare unblinking. "You will be drained of blood, and then you will receive your blood mixed with your Sire's. It is a death of sorts."

I can't explain it, maybe it's the comedy of the situation or just the strain and lack of sleep, but I burst out laughing at this, and I can but try to calm down again. "A little death, then? Hey, I must say, your offer sounds real nice to me, and being together with Julian for this... little death of sorts even sounds sexy."

I expected a slight cough, but all I get is another piercing glance. "I've heard it's very… ecstatic."

Making a mental note to come back to this point some time later, and sitting down by his side, I state: "I have no choice, then."

Of course I have. He fills me in on the facts. "You could still choose the blood-bond. In this case, you would remain essentially human, but you would be blood-bound to your master. It would take away some of your free will, which is why I wouldn't suggest it."

I understand, and having made up my mind already, I can only shake my head. "Never. You know me. Forget it."

This is appreciated with a nod. "Then, yes, the Embrace is your only choice." He smiles his sad smile again. "Take as long as you need to think about this, Callum."

"No more thinking required." I feel good, now that I told him. But I must know one more thing before it's written in stone, and I almost snuggle up to get my point across. "I'll be there, under one condition: You'll be with us."

Suddenly, Daedalus throws away his stiff pose and takes me in his arms. "I'm glad, Callum. You'll make a fantastic Ventrue. I will be there, but you won't see me."

I can't follow this sudden change of atmosphere, but I am much too confused now, and too tired anyway. If I give in to all those emotions, I will probably not see the end of it. So, finally, it's me who has to keep the distance. After planting a shy kiss on his forehead, I pull away from him and order: "Leave me now, and I'll see you tomorrow night."

The look in his eyes pays me for all my trouble, and his tone of voice is soft and warm, "Of course. Good night, Callum." With this, he leaves.

I sit down with my tea, I light a cigarette, I lean back. My mind has shut down for today. Quiet now.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

It is done. I should be relieved, happy even, at Callum's acceptance of our offer. After all, he accepted immortality. As Kindred, he can and must learn about his new world – and me. There will be no more barriers between us, except those imposed by bloodlines.

And yet, I feel a sense of loss.

He'll no longer be human. I can't deny the fear that maybe, with his Embrace, he'll lose that indefinable quality that drew me to him in the first place. It is for this reason, among others, that I never made a childe in all of my centuries. There's no denying the fact that the Embrace changes us, if not immediately, then certainly with time. Not all changes are as obvious as the Nosferatu curse. Most are more subtle, and it is those subtle changes in Callum that I fear most.

What if I won't be able to love him anymore?

I realize I'm borrowing trouble. It may not happen. Whatever drew me to him may turn out to become amplified by the Embrace. And, lest I forget, there's no alternative.

It's time to distract myself from my propensity for self-torture, and what better way to do that than to talk to a child? And who better among all my children than Daniel?

The child has been reading again; he looks up and smiles as I enter his room. Then he proceeds to further threaten my composure by scrambling out of bed, running up to me, and throwing his small arms around me. "I'm glad you're okay," he says into the folds of my overcoat, and I'm surprised to find he's speaking English. Callum must have worked another miracle in my absence.

"What makes you say that, child?" I've been away from the hospital before, and never received such a welcome.

He draws back to look up at me. "Callum said you had an accident," he explains, "but I knew something was wrong before then." He frowns, which scrunches up his little face into an expression of utter concentration. "You look pale," he pronounces. "I mean, you're always pale. But now you look sick-pale, not normal-pale. Are you really okay?"

I resolve to tell the truth; it never pays to lie to a transcender. "I was injured, but I'm better now."

He nods, then switches to ancient Greek. "I've always wanted to ask you, Daedalus... What are you?"

I close my eyes. Please, I plead silently, don't ask me that. I can't tell you. I don't want to have to embrace you, too...

"Daedalus?" his child's voice asks hesitantly. "Don't be angry..."

I look at him. "I can't tell you, child. I'm sorry."

"Don't say that just because I'm little!" he says, showing the first hint of temper I've seen from him. "I'm not stupid, you know. I can understand things."

"Daniel, no one would ever think you're stupid. I can't tell you because it's a secret."

"Like the pyramids?"

I smile. "Yes, like the pyramids."

He walks back to his chair, sits down on it and folds his arms in a gesture of defiance. "When I grow up, I'll find out about the pyramids. And I'll find out about you, too."

Somehow, this threat sounds much less childish coming from him than it would from any other child. "Daniel," I say earnestly, "finding out about the pyramids will be easier and much less dangerous than finding out about me."

His eyes grow wide. "Dangerous?"

I hate myself for doing this, but this child is much too intelligent, curious and stubborn for his own good. I have to make him leave off investigating before his inquisitiveness leads to his downfall. "I like you, Daniel. You have nothing to fear from me. But there are others like me, and they won't hesitate to be mean to you. Very mean."

He's silent for a moment. "Like the doctor who was here before?"

"Yes. Like the doctor."

"Abel said you killed the doctor."

"Yes."

"Because he was mean to us?"

Caine, the child is clever. I can see where he's going, though, and head him off at the pass. He can't go on believing that he can do whatever he wants and I'll protect him. "He was killed because he broke our laws. If you find out about us, that same law will be applied against you." I harden my heart and allow my eyes to change color. "There are no exceptions," I growl at him.

Even now, he's torn between curiosity and fear, and then curiosity wins out. "Wow!" he breathes, switching back to English.

"Do you understand me, child?"

He nods. "Yeah, I get it. You didn't have to scare me like this, though. I'm not stupid. All you have to do is explain things to me."

I have to smile at that. Sometimes, Daniel acts in such a mature manner that it's hard to remember he's still a child. And sometimes, he's so much the precocious little brat that hardly anyone would believe he's eight.

He sees my expression and smiles too. "I love you, Daedalus," he says. "I don't care what you are." And then he throws himself in my arms.

Suddenly, I'm assailed by what can only be a vision. The room vanishes. Another room appears, some place I've never seen before, but it's blurry and out of focus. All I can see is a large circular object. I relax, letting the vision come to me, not forcing nor fighting it, but the room vanishes again before I can take it in. Instead, I see symbols scrolling past in rapid succession, and I hear a man's voice say, "The seventh symbol is the point of origin." Then I see the man, he's wearing glasses, and I know immediately that it's Daniel, and that I'm somehow seeing a vision of the future, his future.

"Daedalus?"

The vision fades. In its place, I see the young face of present-day Daniel looking at me with concern. "What's wrong?"

I close my eyes for a moment, forcing myself to calm. "Nothing, child," I say slowly.

"You're really pale. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes." At least I very much hope so.

What just happened? Normally, the discipline of Auspex allows us to see the past, not the future. And yet... I have to believe it really was a vision and not some hallucination left over by my injury. But if so, what does it mean? What are these symbols? What does Daniel have to do with it?

I do wish I'd have more time to ponder this. But at the moment, something else must take precedence in my mind and thoughts.

Callum.

Gently, I reach out a hand to stroke Daniel's soft hair. "I must leave you, child. And you should sleep now. No more reading in bed."

Obviously, he's impressed by what he saw and heard today, so he acquiesces without a murmur of protest.

* * *

_**Callum**_

This is it, then. It's the last night I'll live, at least as a mortal breathing being, and the last day I'll experience with all the little niceties humanity has up its sleeve; like breakfast, sunbathing, cigarettes… What I learned to know about the vampires, or more specific, the Ventrue, which is Julian's sort, isn't in the least enough to understand what is awaiting me after what Daedalus called the Embrace, but then again, how would you explain swimming to a non-swimmer? Like floating? Yeah, great. So, if I'm lucky, I'll happily float along.

There's no way even to think of sleeping tonight. On the other hand, it's much too late to go out, and the places I could go even at this time of night are out of the question. None of this any more.

So, I roam the corridors of the hospital, telling myself it's just to make sure everything is all right, and then I lie down on my sofa, trying to close my eyes for a moment, if only to experience the warm feeling of sleep one last time. I doze away, but the ringing of my desk phone wakes me up again. It is four o'clock in the morning, and I hear Sean's amiable voice.

I greet him cordially while racking my brains how to deal with this. I remember that I had left him a message at my last call, and he is almost certainly concerned. He would be even more worried if I told him the truth, but this can never be, I've learned my lesson so far. So, swallowing down the urge to tell him everything, I patter on about my daily routines, gladly hover quite a bit over the Daniel case, and then stumble through the "And how are you?" sequence. He is apt to see through my little charade, in fact he will most likely notice every single bit behind it, and yet he is kind enough to refrain from asking.

We finish our talk in the same easygoing tone of voice our friendship has always had, but his last words go on echoing in my head: "Callum, I know you're not telling me the whole story, and I should not push. But if something should ever happen to you that you can't explain, something that you think might change your life, please do me the personal favor and let me in on it." I pretend not to understand the meaning of his words, make a bad joke, thank him and hang up.

Well, I really didn't catch the meaning of his words.

Can it be he knows something I don't? I mean, he knows a whole lot of things I'll never know, but maybe the Masquerade goes on and on… No, impossible. He can't be one of them. And yet, he seemed to sense something unusual, and he talked about something 'changing my life'. Or could it be he is hiding something from me; something else, something I can't put my finger on? Or was it just me, behaving so strangely, which struck him? Gods, I'm tired, and it's morning again.

I get up and make myself a coffee. Then I resist to take another day off and plunge into the daily hospital routine. At least, I don't need to fear that I'll lose this. While I'm doing it with a totally new attitude and the subtle feeling that my life as such will end tonight, I find that I've come to love my work dearly and would miss it, after all.

The day passes without further incidents, and all too soon it is evening again. I come back to my room with the need to tidy up. When I come back to work among the living – if I come back – I want everything to be spic and span. It's going to be a new life, or rather, a new existence in any case, so I want it to be nice. But instead of setting to work, I suddenly think of grandma, hearing her voice commenting on the danger I'm going to put myself into, and I sit down and cry just a little a bit, pitying myself.

An ever so slight movement makes me look up. Daedalus must have entered my room without a sound and is now standing in front of me. "It is time."

I look into his eyes, and somehow this makes things easier. He will be there, he will watch over me, and if anything goes wrong, he'll stay by my side, I'm sure of it. I resist the urge to take him by the hand and instead grab my sports bag. "Just in case it takes longer… And I told them I'll be off for a congress, anyway." The children don't know, though. I could not bring myself to tell them; especially Daniel would have looked through any kind of excuse. Biting back my bad conscience because of that, I follow Daedalus to the door. In the corridor we part, for he will go through the sewers, as usual, whereas I will take the car that is supposed to be waiting for me outside. I dearly hope he'll be there when we arrive. His glance, though, is very reassuring.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

Fortunately for me, San Francisco streets rarely let a car pass through quickly. It is still quite early in the evening, so there's enough traffic congesting Callum's way to allow me to reach Luna Manor before him. No traffic lights in the sewers, and a little celerity can go a long way.

He's pale, from nerves, I expect. I can only imagine how he must feel now. My own embrace happened without warning and without my consent, so I had no time back then to scare myself with what-ifs. But Callum had a whole day, and he seems to have used it.

To be frank, I'm a bit nervous myself.

"Callum," I greet him as he reaches the main entrance.

He smiles tightly. "I still wish I could see you when... you know..."

I shake my head. "I'm afraid it's impossible. Julian wouldn't allow it. For Ventrue, privacy is required during the Embrace. Remember, it is the most intimate act we're capable of – the making of a childe. Gangrel, for instance -"

"Daedalus," he interrupts me, "please. Let's save the lecture for when we're done, okay?"

I incline my head. "Of course. I'm sorry, Callum." He looks so nervous that I open my mouth to assure him that rarely anything goes wrong during an embrace, and that Julian is experienced and has already made several childer, but then I leave the words unsaid. Better not to even mention that there might be problems...

I hear footsteps and turn around to face Julian.

"Callum. Daedalus." He smiles and nods in Callum's direction. "I hope you are well rested, Callum?"

Callum nods wordlessly, looking back at me.

"That's excellent," Julian goes on. "Shall we, then?"

Still Callum lingers, throwing me a pleading glance. I wink at him, and his face dissolves in a smile.

I'll be there, my friend, I promise him silently.

I watch them go. Something stirs in my chest, and then I feel my heart give a few beats with an emotion I have not felt in a very long time. Jealousy.

You agreed to this, I remind myself. He can't be yours. It is the only way.

For the sake of the Gangrel guards, I head for the gatehouse, but as soon as I am out of sight, I seek the shadows and return to the manor, obfuscated. Unseen, I pass through the door and up the stairs. The door to Julian's bedroom is not closed yet, and I slip in silently, neatly sidestepping Julian who closes the door behind my invisible back.

"Let's skip the preliminaries," Callum is saying. "What do I have to do?"

Walking to the bed, Julian removes his jacket and tie. "Get comfortable. Try to relax. Oh, and loosen your collar."

Callum smiles in a way I can only call flirtatious. "Just my collar?"

Julian rewards him with a cool look. "More isn't necessary."

At that, Callum visibly tries to pull himself together.

"I assume Daedalus explained to you what you have to expect?"

"Yes."

"Very well then." Julian makes an inviting gesture towards the bed.

I have to fight the impulse to look away as they lie down together. If it were anyone else, I wouldn't feel so much like a voyeur. The discipline of obfuscation turns all of us into voyeurs sooner or later, and I am no exception. But these are my closest friends. I feel like the intruder that I am, and I don't want to watch – not without being a part of them. It is only my promise to Callum that holds me here.

As Julian gently guides Callum's head back to expose his throat, I can't help but notice that Callum is aroused. The scent of it carries over to me, and I close my eyes to breathe it in, again and again.

Then Julian extends his fangs and sinks them into Callum's neck, and I almost groan out loud along with him.

I know that now neither of them is aware of their surroundings, so I don't have to be quite so quiet anymore. It is like a swoon, to drink from a mortal, especially to drain them dry. Before the advent of the Camarilla, back when unlife was simpler and much less dangerous, I used to seek this swoon like an addiction. The ecstasy, the intense satisfaction, the way the world narrows down until there is only sensation, the need to hold tight with arms and legs and drink and drink – oh yes, I know exactly what Julian is feeling now.

And quite obviously, Callum is feeling something very like it.

When you do it, time dilates, and it appears to take hours until the vessel is drained. Observing, I find that after just minutes Callum's breathing begins to turn shallow. And then it is over.

Julian raises his head from Callum's throat. He looks so different from his usual suave self that I can feel the Beast in me respond to the savagery he is exuding. For a moment, he actually looks in my direction, wild, primal, but, of course, he can't see me.

How I wish he would really look at me like that just once!

Then Julian uses his fangs to open a vein in his arm and holds the bleeding wound to Callum's mouth. We both wait for the first drawing of blood that will tell us that the fledgling has started his Becoming.

And wait.

Suddenly terrified, I approach the bed. Julian is whispering under his breath, pleading with Callum to drink, please drink. His eyes change color with the domination he is exerting over Callum, but still I can feel him growing weaker, and Julian, to whom he is connected, must surely feel it as well.

I am just about to reveal myself and act, when Julian yells, "DAEDALUS!" - almost taking out my hearing.

"I'm here."

Julian is so caught up in the events that he doesn't question my presence nor even jumps with surprise at my sudden appearance in his bedroom. "Something's wrong," he forces out hoarsely. "He's dying."

"No!" I kneel down next to them. "He can't!" Futilely, I press Julian's wrist to Callum's mouth, holding two fingers against his throat to induce swallowing. Nothing. I begin to shake him, shouting something while I'm already mentally going through everything I ever learned about alchemy that might save Callum and coming up empty.

Suddenly, I notice Julian holding onto my hand that's still holding Julian's wrist. "Daedalus! Daedalus, it's over. I can't feel him anymore."

I stare at him in denial.

"I felt him slip away, Daedalus. He's dead."

Dead... I throw back my head to howl out my despair.

* * *

To be continued... 


	7. Electrified

**Chapter 7 - Electrified**

* * *

_For disclaimer see Chapter 1_

**_Warning:_** This chapter contains homoerotic elements. Nothing explicit, though.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

I become aware of voices.

"He'll drain himself dry if he goes on like this."

"I know." Julian.

"Shouldn't we do something?" That's Cash. What's the Gangrel doing in Julian's bedroom?

"I'm open to suggestions." Julian again.

There's a pause during which I can hear someone sobbing.

"I could go get his second. Maybe he'll know what to do. It could be a Nosferatu thing."

Cash, what are you talking about?

I open my eyes. Or rather, I try to. My lids appear to be stuck together by something. As I try to move my arms to clean out my eyes, I realize I'm holding something close to me.

Then, memory and awareness return fully. The renewed force of my grief is like a physical blow, and I know only that I must hide, hole myself up somewhere and never come out again.

"Daedalus?" Julian's voice asks.

Forcing my eyes to open, I growl something non-verbal and gather Callum to my chest to stagger off the bed and out of the room. Cash wisely moves aside to let me pass. Like an automaton, I stalk the hallways and stairs until I reach my haven, where I gently lay Callum down on my bed and drop down onto the floor next to it.

I killed him.

I killed him.

Callum...

For a long time, I'm only aware of my sobs and the blood tears dripping steadily onto my hands as the despair slowly drains out of me together with my vitae.

Suddenly, there is a gasp. Another presence in my haven. I freeze.

A long groan. Callum's voice.

I'm on my feet in an instant to stare down at him uncomprehendingly. He's alive! He's moving, his eyes are opening... All my strength leaves my limbs, and I collapse back down next to the bed, sobbing again, but now with relief.

* * *

_**Callum**_

The first thing I hear while coming to is some kind of sobbing. Did I faint? Did I die? I can't remember. I don't even recall how it felt being in bed with Julian; a fact I regret. But this isn't Julian hugging his knees beside my bedstead, it is Daedalus. I feel pain everywhere, and I can't rise, yet I stretch out one trembling hand to touch his shoulder. The sobbing stops abruptly, and his face turns to watch me out of his blood-rimmed eyes, in point of fact out of his blood-stained face.

I try to speak to him, but my throat is indescribably dry, so all I manage to utter is something like a croak. At once, he is with me, hovering over me, caressing me like I did him when he was injured. But, strangely enough, although I feel relieved to see him again, and from the way he behaves can but guess that something went quite different from what we all expected, I don't want him so close now. Not yet, after coming to from whatever state I was in. So I smile at him and softly push him away. He looks so wounded, so fragile, that for a moment I am scared that I might have hurt his feelings too much, but then he seems to understand and just lets me be.

Before he can run away, I hold on to his arm, trying to get command of my limbs again. With an effort I finally manage to sit up. I am grateful that Daedalus won't make any move to help me. After taking a deep breath, I try again. "My friend," my voice sounds hoarse and totally strange, but at least I can speak again, "your place?" As if he's afraid to bother me with his voice, he simply nods. God, I'm thirsty.

"Want to go to my place, please," I manage. Suddenly very much in need of another person close to me, I open my arms in a hug-me-pose. Daedalus understands at once. He lifts me up as if I'm no more than a child, and carries me through a door and along innumerable sewers, until we come to what must be the hospital's cellar. We don't need to talk. I snuggle close to him, afraid that something else might happen, something that makes me hurt again, and I don't want to be hurt right now, and I don't want to be without him, and everything's like walking through jelly.

We emerge somewhere in the empty hospital corridors, we fortunately don't meet anybody in the passageway, and a moment later I'm in my room. Another look shared between the two of us, and he knows that I need some more time to come to. He puts me down on my own bed, and although I try to hold on to him, he gently disentangles himself from my grip, retreating into the shadows. I know he's still there, I can sense him, and with this feeling I relax and let my thoughts wander.

I don't know what's happening to me. I know I died. And yet, I feel more alive than I've ever felt before. There's a strange kind of energy flowing through me, filling me with sensations that make me tingle and my hair stand on end. The memory flows back to me. The night with Julian is like a bad dream, or a nice dream, I can't make up my mind and I couldn't tell which choice would be better.

I have dreamt of being with Julian before. Of course. I think there's no being on earth that wouldn't dream of being with Julian, once they've seen him. He is so… powerful. Beautiful. Gracious. Or maybe that is what I think now, and it's just the fact that I have been with him that makes me think this way. And it's not even that we had anything like sex. Yes, I can hear my inner voice talking to me, it was more than that. Sex is nothing compared to what we did.

He wanted me to become one with himself, in a very intimate way, and then he killed me. And something went wrong. All this I know. But my instincts tell me that nothing went wrong. It was the right thing to do, and the right process to happen, and the only thing I can't understand is what really happened. But it's all right now, I am still alive, or alive again, I can feel my heart beating, and yet…

We were one. First, I was aroused simply because of lying by his side, feeling his lips on me, his arms around me. It's not that he wasn't excited, too, only in a less explicit way, I could feel that. But then… it was like our minds were mingling, melting together, and I can still sense his feelings, his thoughts, like an echo. For a long moment, we had one mind, one body, don't get me wrong, this isn't what you get by having sex only. Because of that, I now know how much power he really has, and besides this fact, I also learned about his fears, his hopes, his dreams. I am pretty sure that he would have given in to other sensations, too, had he not this iron self-control of his, and the burden of a responsibility for a whole city pressing down on him. For one precious moment, I knew that he exceedingly wanted me, and what is more, that he also wanted Daedalus, and both of this matching my own desires, I am the only one of us allowed to live it up.

Trembling with strange desires and this new kind of energy, I suddenly have the urgent need to take a shower, as if to wash away the last traces of death and blood, of my former life, and of everything I was before that. Isn't it that you wash a new-born child, and only when it's freed of all the gore and the stickiness it looks like a newborn is supposed to look, nice and clean and cute?

I peel off my clothes in a hurry and have to suppress the urge to throw them away. But I know I'll never put them on again.

When the first spray of warm water hits my face, I can feel my thoughts clearing, and I give in to whatever comes up next. Well, there is something that has indeed come up already. So I set to get this task settled, and it feels like I'm doing it for the first time in my life. Time has no meaning to me, I let the heat consume me, the fireworks burst in my mind, and finally, only partly satisfied, I have to turn the water to cold before I burn up.

And then I sense that I'm not alone. Someone is watching me, like before, and of course: the only one who ever watched me like this is Daedalus. He must be able to make himself invisible. I have never asked him about this, but now I will. Some time later, at least, I will.

I look through the milky glass of my shower cabin and tell the bathroom in general, "Hey, I know you're watching me. Why don't you show yourself?" For a moment, I think I'm really going mad this time, but then I see him standing there, emerging from the mists, watching me indeed. My own desire is reflected in his eyes.

I open the shower cubicle, not caring what sight I present to him. For a long moment we're both standing there, in the mists of my shower excess, before I find the right words. My voice is still rough, I don't know if it's from the climax or from the rebirth process, or simply because of the fact that Daedalus has been watching me. "Hi. Why don't you come and join me?"

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

"Why don't you come and join me?"

His words are soft like the wind whispering through the trees, yet their impact is harder than thunder. I stare at him, at the vision he presents to me, and, drawn as if by invisible strings, I take a step closer, and another.

He smiles mischievously. "Daedalus. Take off your clothes. It helps."

I hesitate, and, sensing my reluctance, he reaches out and pushes my coat off my shoulders, and it falls to the floor behind me unnoticed. The scent rising up from his wet skin is as intoxicating as the smell of blood. Overwhelmed, I close my eyes, feeling him open the buttons of my vest, my shirt, and when I dare to look at him again, he is kneeling in front of me to remove my shoes.

Desire rises up sharply at the sight of his elegantly curved back, and my hands reach out for him before I can force them back down at my sides. He has noticed, however, and takes one hand to lead me forward, and I step out of the rest of my clothes to stand naked before him.

I haven't considered myself pleasant to look at since my Embrace. Like most of us, I can still remember my Breathing Days, and I know I looked different then. Nosferatu's curse has stolen the soft curves and ample musculature so valued by my contemporaries, and left me only my tall frame, lean and thin with every bone, every muscle cord and every sinew clearly defined beneath my gray skin.

Callum, however, apparently likes what he sees. Grasping my other hand, he pulls me forward into the shower cabin.

* * *

_**Callum**_

When my feelings set towards overload, I often tend to switch my emotional gear to "objective". This is what I do now. It's just too much.

God, he looks – different. His pale skin is smooth, especially when wet, and just a bit too tight over the cords and bones. It's, in fact, all cords and bones. Well, almost all… And he's big. I can't deny this. And I wonder if it comes with the "brood" or if he's always been like that.

We just stand there with the current between us, watching each other, trembling. I have to do something. I'm not prepared for this. I should know better, I've done this kind of thing often enough to be experienced. Yet, I hesitate to touch him. Why? Because I don't know how he'll react? Well, did I ever know, with all the others?

I pump some shower gel into my hand and carefully apply it to his chest. He trembles even more, but that's the only reaction I get, besides the obvious fact that the whole situation turns him on just like me. Reassuring myself that Daedalus won't jump it now, I get a bit bolder and start massaging the lather into his skin. He closes his eyes, but a suppressed growl tells me how close he is to doing something, well, wild. I presume. So, for the time being, I refrain from massaging certain bits. That will have to wait until later.

I wash him from bald head to taloned toe, registering all the tiny places that are more sensitive than others. When I'm finished, I take his hand. He opens his eyes, and they seem on the edge of blazing again. I talk to him, soothingly, "It's all right, Daedalus. There's nothing to be afraid of. Everything will be fine. Here, give me your hand." Like in a trance he obeys, and I put a generous amount of shower gel into his calloused palm. "Come on, do it. Don't be afraid." Very carefully, as if he might break my skin, he starts echoing my applications. His hands are like pumice, and yet, he's ever so cautious and I like what I feel.

Enjoying his caresses thoroughly, I lean into him, let our erections touch and our physiology work on its own.

After the water has gone cold and our activities have reached something like an intermediate end, we are lying on my bed side by side, partly wrapped in towels, for the sake of decency. I feel empty, and wonderfully filled at the same time, the tingling has stopped, my mind is free. Daedalus seems to be feeling similarly, because I can't sense the slightest movement from him.

Slowly, my intellect catches up with my thoughts again. I look at Daedalus without turning my head. "Uhm... I've got a little problem. It's got nothing to do with you, but... you know… why am I alive?"

Daedalus turns his head to face me without moving any other muscle. "I know. I have no idea." He turns his head back. "I'll have to research this phenomenon."

"Yuh, right."

"How do you feel? Different? Changed?"

"Electrified. Satisfied. In love?"

There is a short pause, then, his voice with that little humorous edge, "That's not what I meant." He takes my hand and looks at it as if it's something totally new to inspect, then just remains holding it. "You look different somehow."

"Feelin' different, too," I admit. "Like, you know, have you ever touched a broken cable?"

"Not recently."

This forces a grin. "This is so romantic, ya ken."

Daedalus looks around the room. "We could light a few candles."

"Yuh, soppy."

This won't be answered.

I let some time pass before I form my thoughts into a question: "This your first time?"

"My first time talking to someone who wasn't embraced and should be dead but isn't? Yes." He sounds as if he's standing in front of a classroom. "My first time lying half-naked next to this someone? Yes. My first time lying half-naked next to someone who isn't Kindred, or a woman? Yes. My first time performing frottage? Yes."

I half rise, turning towards my new lover. "Thank you, Mr. Daedalus, for this very precise statement. I liked it, too."

"It was… wonderful."

"Don't strain anything." I put my head on Daedalus' chest. It's a nice chest, hard but quite comfy, and I feel that I'm about to fall asleep. "Whatever it is, I like it like that." Suddenly, I know what's missing, and look at him doubtfully. "Hey, I don't hear your heartbeat, mister."

Daedalus puts his arm around me, a gesture that is most comforting. "That would be because my heart isn't beating right now."

"Ah." I relax again. "Could've thought so."

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

His breathing evens out, and I realize that he's asleep.

After the tempest of emotions that slammed into me and swept me along to wash me ashore on the banks of this situation, I now feel completely calm. It's as if I've been drained of more than vitae by crying for so long; I can't even feel excitement or wonder at this turn of events, or at the fact that I'm lying in bed with a lover after sharing what we did in the shower, and again on this bed.

I don't know what possessed me to follow his invitation and join him. It could so easily have ended in disaster. I haven't fed in a while, long enough to know that, right now, sunlight would present a problem. And still, so soon after almost losing him, I risked him by seeking his presence while feeling the Hunger. In the throes of unaccustomed ecstasy, I was more than once tempted to follow my instincts and feed from him, and I don't know if I would have been able to stop in time. Fortunately, he'll never know how close I came.

The smell of his skin, his hair, the feel of his warm body against mine... He would try the patience of a saint, and I am as far removed from that as I could be. I may dress like a gentleman and talk like an aristocrat, but underneath the trappings of civilization, I'm still a beast.

Even this fatalistic thought lacks the power to disturb the peace I'm feeling. Listening to Callum's regular breathing, lulled by his heartbeat and surrounded by his scent, I'm tempted to just remain here until the sun rises, and spend the day's rest in his arms.

But I can't. Not here. Reluctantly, I disentangle myself from him, using my mental powers to keep him from waking up at the disturbance, and then I look down at him.

He does look different. There's something about him that wasn't there before, something that can't be detected by normal senses.

Before I can stop myself, I lean down to brush my cold lips over his warm temple. And then I have to stop myself from answering the call of his blood beneath the delicate skin.

I must go, now.

Gathering my clothes, I leave his quarters and the scene of our first time as lovers.

* * *

On my way through the sewers, I come across a few rats whose blood eases the worst of my hunger. Then, a clansman out hunting late informs me that there's some kind of uproar in Luna Manor.

"Where in God's name have you been, Daedalus?" Julian greets me as soon as he sets eyes on me. "You're not in your haven, no one knows where you are, all we can find is Nosferatu blood on the floor next to your bed, and Callum's body's gone as well. What the hell happened to you?"

"I'm sorry, Julian. It wasn't my intention to worry you."

He frowns, looks away, then back at me wearing a forced smile. "I wasn't worried. It just seemed irresponsible to let you wander out alone in your condition. You weren't exactly in your right mind. Are you all right?"

I stare at him, wondering, not for the first time, why it is so difficult for him to admit his feelings of concern, at least to me. He's the Prince. I'm his councilor, his Enforcer. It doesn't make him any less admirable to me if he admits to weakness, something he should know. "I'm fine." I abandon this topic and take a step towards him. "Julian, something extraordinary happened. Callum is alive."

"What!" He stares at me open-mouthed. "That can't be. I felt him die. He was dead."

"Indeed he was. There was no life in him for at least an hour. Then, somehow, he came back to life. He's still human, Julian. He wasn't embraced. He was dead, yet he lives."

"Impossible."

I smile ruefully. "Three hours ago, I would have agreed. Now, I'm not so sure. After all, we exist. It's possible that Callum, too, is something other than human, something we haven't encountered yet."

Julian visibly struggles with this concept. "Where is he now?"

"I brought him back to the hospital."

"Well," he says weakly, "so much for preserving the Masquerade. He now knows more about us than ever."

"I doubt that betraying our secrets would be his first priority at the moment," I say dryly. "Besides, the Masquerade exists to protect us from discovery by humans. Technically, Callum isn't human anymore. The Tradition of the Masquerade doesn't apply to him."

He stares at me, then gives a weak humorless laugh. "You got what you wanted, didn't you."

I refuse to be offended. "Yes," I reply with dignity. "Although no one could have suspected that something like this would happen."

Julian looks at me with a strange expression. "Yes, it's hard to expect that with someone like Callum…" His cynical tone of voice seems to hide some deeper emotion, one I'm unable to fathom.

I have no idea what he's trying to imply. No one could have foreseen that Callum would come back to life, or even that the Embrace wouldn't take. "I certainly didn't expect it." And if I didn't, who knows him so much better than any of us, who else could have? After all, Julian was as surprised as I was.

"And thus it was so easy for him to get what he wanted," Julian states inexplicably.

I make no effort to hide my confusion from my friend. "To continue living, yes." What else could he mean?

He looks me in the eye, his expression cold. "To get in your pants."

I stare at him.

"The little… Scottish whore."

I feel a sharp stab of anger at this insult to my beloved Callum, but I clamp down on it with the ease of centuries of practice. This is Julian, one of the very few friends I have. I will not harm him because of words. The growl remains unuttered, and my eyes retain their usual color.

Still, I can't keep a glacial tone from entering my voice. "To assume that he orchestrated all this, just to achieve this purpose, is a bit... preposterous, even for you, Julian."

It is a testament to Julian's trust in our friendship as well as the strength of his convictions that he stands his ground – something I've always admired about him. I know of no other Kindred in this domain who would risk angering me like this, no one I would let talk to me like this with impunity.

But Julian has always been one of a kind. "You forget that I now know things about him," he goes on.

"So do I," I reply curtly.

"And yet. You shouldn't get involved with him. You know what happened before…"

This time, I instantly know what he means, and the renewed stab of pain makes it very hard for me to hold on to my composure.

Of course I remember. It happened more often than I care to count, but the last time was the worst because I had actually allowed myself hope. I had thought, for a few blissful hours, that happiness could indeed be mine, that, with the aid of alchemy, I could enact my own masquerade and be close to a human woman for a time. And when it ended the same night it began, it _hurt_.

But this time is different. Callum already saw my true form. He isn't repulsed by my looks. If this fails, it won't be because of my blood. This time, I'm entitled to a little hope.

I realize that my feelings are threatening to overwhelm my detachment. "Maybe we should discuss this another time," I force out. Please, Julian, I don't want to lose our friendship over this, I add silently. It means too much to me.

To my relief, Julian says, "Agreed. But maybe you should also ask him about his past."

He won't let this rest, I realize. "I concede that your experience with relationships is far superior to mine," I say stiffly, "and I will heed your advice." I won't force Callum, though. His secrets are his own.

Julian frowns. "Touché. But, please, let me address you as your friend, not as your prince, Daedalus." He looks at me earnestly. "You deserve better. I'll say no more."

Better than Callum? I don't think that's possible, Julian's bad opinion of him notwithstanding. I'm tempted to say something sarcastic, but I do know that he means well. "Thank you for you opinion, my friend," I say sincerely. "Unfortunately, what I may or may not deserve and what I can achieve are two different things."

Julian gives me an odd look, but doesn't comment. "What are you going to do now?" he asks after a pause.

"I'm going to try and find out what he is, so we know how to deal with him. He became what he's now because of my interference. Informing him about his new situation is the least I can do."

That is something Julian understands. "Is he a danger to us, or to the humans?"

I shake my head. "I don't know. But I'll hazard a guess that he's not the only one of his kind. Perhaps something like this happened before. I'll search my library for hints – accounts of failed embraces, mortals coming back to life without our help, things like that."

"And if you don't find anything?"

I smile grimly. "Then I'll have to find someone who is like Callum and ask him. Or her."

* * *

Not for the first time, I realize the limitations of my library. Moving to the New World forced me to leave most of my books and scrolls behind back in Europe, which means that the information I'm seeking, if indeed it ever was in my possession, is now beyond my grasp.

Frustrated, and feeling the day lethargy creeping up on me with a vengeance, I abandon my search of the written word. It is noon and high time for rest, but some feeling of urgency makes me want to continue.

Maybe someone somewhere in the Nosferatu network can help me. I retrieve my laptop from within a drawer of my desk and log in to the network. A few contacts in Europe are already online, and even in Asia and our relatively new colony in Sydney, Australia, I can find someone to ask. I try to couch my inquiry in relatively innocuous terms at first, but even when I make myself clearer, no one can tell me anything beyond a few rumors and unsubstantiated legends.

Resisting the temptation to make this chat an all-out exchange of news and spend the next several hours at my desk in front of the computer, I log out and watch the laptop power down.

So. It appears that Mr. Harold Forrester will have to make an appearance and start nosing around the streets of San Francisco for a person who is like Callum.

Contrary to what the other Clans think when they call us sewer rats, we do venture outside and above ground occasionally – in disguise, of course. Mr Forrester is one of my Masks. He's my height and build (which makes it easier to buy clothes that will fit me), and he has one of those faces that are easy to forget with blond hair and blue eyes; the face of an accountant. Which is exactly what he was about 80 years ago, when he was still alive and I copied him.

A few hours' rest, and then Harold will see what there is to see.

* * *

_**Callum**_

The sound of the alarm clock has to go through several layers of Morpheus' charms this time. It takes me quite a few minutes to come to, but I finally manage to look up. The place next to me is empty. The daylight is streaming through the blinds, and I blink to look around the room but, of course, no Daedalus. He must have gone during the night, and before I worry, I remember what he has gone through, and that he will need some time to rest, and also to imbibe whatever gore he feeds on.

Smiling to myself, I touch the sheets where he's been lying, then I force myself to get up and fight another day, literally.

Fortunately, we have both absolved my night round, so that the children didn't need to miss either me or him. Now, I start my daily routine by calling at Daniel's first. I feel I owe him, somehow.

He looks at me over his breakfast and smiles warmly. I love the way he looks at me now, it's no comparison to his previous anxiety, as if all the dreadful events of the past have fallen off him. His eyes are huge and curious and ready to explore the world, like they are supposed to be with an eight-year old boy. I sit down by his side and rustle through his latest opus. The pictures are even more colourful, and they look intriguingly original to my non-professional eye. This is what ancient Egypt must have been like: alive, vivid, exotic.

"How come you know so much about the way they painted, Daniel?" I ask him while he is munching his muesli.

He stops chewing for a moment and cocks his head. "I've seen them, Callum. The pictures on the walls, like, in the pyramids."

Yes, of course. I almost forgot about the fact that both his parents were archaeologists. They must have taken him on their journeys. What a way to grow up! I'm almost a bit jealous, but I'm also aware of the dangers a life bears to a child on tour, always new places, seldom other kids you can build up a real truthful bond with, and all those adults talking all that stuff. Many children have the ability to cope with such situations, but the damage is done, nevertheless.

Children want to be loved. They want us to be kind to them. If we behave strangely, they try to make up for it. If we treat them like adults, they try to behave in a grown-up way. From a certain moment on, it can even lead to them not being children any more, but little pre-adults who specialize on being adequate without ever learning to develop their own shape. Just to make us go on being kind to them.

This is something I cannot patch up. He won't be here for long now, and it would take years to repair.

Reminding me of the topic I'll have to discuss with him. "Daniel."

His eyes search me. He can sense that I'm about to say something very serious. Then he flutters his eyelids, obviously trying to find another topic, and starts to give a review on the ancient art of painting. For a moment or two, I let him talk, it is so nice to listen to his voice. My mind drifts off a bit, lingering over the past night, and then I am with Daniel again.

"And then, you know, they didn't have what you might call artistic liberty. We have that today, but with the Egyptians it was all different. They achieved the highest art when the pictures they made looked just the same as the models. Which means, just imagine, for decades they had the same kind of pictures all over." He beams at me. The knowledge seems to be so good for his complexion.

Unwilling to disturb this healthy development, I go into the matter. "Meaning that every single pyramid has the same images?"

"Not all of them." He gives a knowing smile. "There's one that doesn't have a single picture at all." When I won't reply to this one, he goes on, "It's the Great Pyramid at Gizah. No pictures. Take my word."

"What, you mean it's empty?"

"Yes. Isn't that strange?"

I smile back. "Well yes, Daniel, it is. But I can't make any sense of it, because I'm a doctor, not an archaeologist."

He sighs. "Yes, of course. I almost forgot. You know, Callum, it is so nice talking to you. You really care about me."

I look into his eyes, and I feel the pain. His and mine. I have to tell him. Now. "Yes, I do care about you a lot, Daniel. But there's something I have to tell you. Something very important. From guy to guy."

He looks crestfallen, as if he can anticipate what I'm about to say. "Is it about the hospital?" he asks.

"Yes, Daniel. About the hospital. You… You can't stay here forever…"

"I know." His voice is but a whisper. "But I want to stay with you. And with Daedalus. Why can't I stay with you?"

"Because…" my voice is hoarse now, "someone has to adopt you. I can't be that someone. We will find a nice couple where you can stay. But beforehand, you will have to be very brave. You will have to spend some time in an orphanage." I would like to add that it isn't that bad, and that there will be parents who look just for him, but this would be false promises. There are seldom people who want to adopt an eight-year old boy, and the orphanages will be hell for Daniel. It almost breaks my heart.

He is crying now. No more words. Without thinking, I take him in my arms, and he clings to me like he'll never let me go. I must force down my own tears, and so we just sit there, comforting each other, until I finally must leave in order to take care of the other children.

I have to keep myself from crying more than once this day. The past days have left their mark, and I really don't want to say good-bye to Daniel. Sean has warned me about this, you always have to keep a professional distance, but not this time, no, it just won't work.

I'll have to find a solution. Hey, after all, I'm a Scot. Aren't they proverbial for stubbornness?

Thinking of Sean, I start when the phone rings. It's Sean.

I am relieved to hear his kind voice, but something in it alarms me. Again, he asks me if something strange has happened during the last weeks, or if it comes to that, days. I wonder how much he might know, and if it would be a breach of the Masquerade to tell him what happened. I try to wriggle out, but he is ever so good, and maybe he can read my mind, after all.

Finally I give in. In any case, Sean is my mentor, and I totally trust him. So, in a nutshell, I tell him what has happened. He listens to all of it, seemingly without any wonder at all, and at the end he says: "Then it has finally happened." I ask the question. He answers: "You are one of us now."

And before I can ask more, he goes on: "Callum, please. This is important. You need a teacher and a sword. You need a place to hide before you can expose yourself to the game."

"Which game?"

"They call it a game. In fact, Callum, it is a game, according to legend." Sean sounds real grave now. "Most of us are sword-bearers, their only aim being to be in combat with one another. When we are involved in one of those fights, it is until one of us dies."

"I thought we can't die."

"You can. If someone cuts off your head."

"I see."

"Callum?"

"Yes?"

"You do believe me, do you?"

"Of course, dear." I do. Although I wish I wouldn't.

And then he goes on telling me about the Immortals, about the "there can be only one" thing and all that. Finally, he closes his story with a flourish. "Rumour has it there's one of our hunters heading for San Francisco right now. That's why I asked you, and I called to warn you." Before I can reply something, he continues, "Please follow my advice and go to the house of Chao-dai Miao Yu, I'll give you his address. He is a close friend of mine, and he will help you. It's holy ground where he's staying, and you're safe on holy ground. Nobody will attack you there."

The phone call is soon finished, and I lean back heavily in my chair after hanging up. Fine start to a new life. I'm immortal, I'll have to learn how to use a sword, and what is more, I risk meeting my very final death quite soon. Maybe this hunter will at least give me some time to reach the temple.

* * *

To be continued... 


	8. Search

**For Disclaimer see Chapter 1**

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 8 - Search**

_**Callum**_

This is a hell of a day. First of all, I wanted to get to the monastery as soon as possible, of course. Sean's phone call in the morning was all I needed to feel the urgency of this, and I must admit that I am also quite curious as to what – and whom - to find in a San Francisco monastery. Being my own employee in one way or another, and constantly working overtime anyway, I had hoped to get some hours off, drive there, check things out, get back to the ward and carry on working.

You know how it is, things always turn out to be quite different from what you planned. All of a sudden, we get one case chasing the next one, as if there's a conspiracy against me, and most of them are in such a state that I can't leave them to my colleagues for even an hour. It is in fact as if the entire City decided to play up today. Maybe it's the full moon again. I am not keeping a record of things like that; but I probably should do so. Don't they always talk about the birth rates exploding at full moon? And there might be a grain of truth in all those werewolf stories, too; I should ask Julian about it.

Anyway, I have to stay and postpone my little excursion. Hence, instead of driving to my sanctuary, I am doing my work just like I'm supposed to do, if but a bit more nervously than usual, and while I'm dealing with the paranoid and the insane, I find myself looking over my shoulder quite frequently, as if the doctor is the one who's cracked most: a nice and this time utterly fitting cliché, come to think of it, and I must pull myself together in order to get rid of the impression that even the patients have come for my head.

In a free minute, I call the operator to find out Chao-dai's phone number. This turns out to be more difficult than expected. First of all, the kind lady wants to know what kind of monastery it is. I had no idea that they have so many of those strange cloisters around, and that they are even sorted by religions, sects, what knows I, names I've never heard of before. When I tell her that I don't have a clue, she is patient enough to go through all of them, or probably makes the computer do this for her after I finally manage to spell the name right. I wonder why she hasn't had the idea in the first place.

In the end, after almost a quarter of an hour of meticulous research, we come to the conclusion that this special monastery either doesn't exist or that the mysterious people living there don't have a phone. The former can't be because Sean has already been there, but the latter would make some sense. If you're living in a monastery, you're doing this for some reason. Making long phone calls, or even short ones, might not be part of their philosophy. This realization is certainly logical, but it doesn't brighten my mood. It makes my day, really. But before I find the time to get angry, I hasten to set to work again, so that I can finally find the time to get off.

Right when I'm about to grab my bag and jacket, the hospital manager pays me a surprise visit. He is in a much better mood than my humble self, especially now, comparatively spoken, but he doesn't notice my expression, and instead starts chatting with me as if we've been old friends. He thought he should drop in just because he was nearby and thought it would be a nice idea to look how things are improving. We talk about the future of the hospital, and especially of this ward here, and I discern certain hints that he is quite impressed with my work and would like me to stay and all that crap, which is all very fine and flattering, but keeps me from saving my head, which in turn would be an important requirement for keeping things as they are.

Believe it or not, he leaves two full hours later, leaving behind an utterly annoyed Dr McKay. Now I know everything about his private life, including almost all his relatives, his dental history and his stomach problems. Furthermore, we made a ward round so that he could look at all the little children, scaring the shit out of some of them by his good-uncle joviality, but that is just fine, too, because it's my job to mend it. And this is what I do for the next hour, right after he's left.

Jeez… It's almost dusk already, and I haven't even had the time to eat something. The knowledge that this won't kill me makes me smile faintly, but it isn't truly reassuring. I need my strength for the fight; if this comes to that. Nonsense, I need my strength to get to Chao-dai. But I feel so fucking tired. It won't do any harm if I lie down for just an hour, will it now? And then, if I don't hear from Daedalus meanwhile, I'll be off to the monastery, I promise myself.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

The sun is still up when I rent my car, using the face and identification of Mr. Forrester. I've taken precautions by feeding and wearing sunglasses, but still, after a long time of constantly spending my days below ground, the daylight feels hot, almost burning, on my skin.

No matter. I'll be safe for a while, and until then the sun will set.

But soon, I'm presented with another problem. How do you search a city like San Francisco for someone you don't know from Adam?

I couldn't even explain the sense of difference I had with Callum; all I know is that whatever makes him not-human now is something that can't be detected by normal human senses. I have some small ability with the discipline of auspex, and I can only hope that it'll be sufficient to detect my target – provided that he or she is even in San Francisco at the moment. And when I find that person, I have to make them trust me and give me the necessary information, or accompany me to Callum and give it to him.

Doubt assails me, but I fight it down ruthlessly. Callum's situation is my fault. I won't rest until I find someone who can help him. I twist Harold's face into an ironic smile as I circle the streets. Simple as that.

If I were a mortal who can't be killed, where would I be? Out in the open, or in hiding? Mortal scientists would be after me hunting me for my secret if they knew I existed. I'd probably be wearing a mask of my own and try to act inconspicuous, but I'd be bound by all the constraints of mortal life like needing to eat, drink, find companionship. I'd be good, or evil, or a mixture of both. In fact, I could be anywhere.

I growl. This is like finding a needle not in a haystack, but in a stack of many other very similar needles.

Finally, I resolve to search all the places where many people gather. The tourist attractions, the Pier, downtown, the park, street cafés, malls. It is a time-consuming and not very promising course of action, but I can think of no other at the moment. Rather than withstanding the sun, the problem will be maintaining my Mask for long enough.

Another problem, I soon find, is resisting the lure of the many mortals I encounter. So many impressions of individual fates, tragedies, frailties, but also of personal triumphs and happiness! Listening to them, watching them, soaking them up as I must if I am to find my target, I'm hard put to keep myself from being distracted by them.

In the end, when I find my target, it is by sheer coincidence.

It has long since gone dark. Walking along an alley leading me from one night club to the next, I suddenly hear something I haven't heard in decades – the ringing sound of colliding sword blades. When I find the source, I discover that it is exactly what it sounds like – a duel fought with swords.

And both combatants give off that subliminal feeling of being something other than human. With immense relief, I melt into the shadows to watch.

They have found a secluded place here in this crowded town, and yet anyone could hear the sound of their fight and come investigate, just like I did. So I can't help but wonder, why would they risk discovery by settling whatever dispute they're here to settle with swords? A blade is not exactly an easy weapon to conceal.

And they're both skilled. I soon realize that this is not a mere settling of a dispute – it is a fight to the death.

I've hardly reached this conclusion when one of the combatants drops to his knees, impaled by his enemy's blade. The other man pulls his weapon back out, draws back and beheads his adversary with one stroke.

Suddenly, the air begins to crackle with energy. All my senses shout at me to find cover.

From the fallen fighter, an amorphous glowing non-corporeal thing rises amidst discharges of energy and sounds like rending and tearing. Bolts of energy discharge into objects, walls, the earth, street lights, and cars – and into the victor, who throws back his head and screams. The glowing shape approaches the screaming man and disappears into him.

A wave of atavistic fear hits me as a lightning bolt discharges into a car next to me and sets it afire, and my instinct to flee will no longer be denied.

No manhole in sight -

explosions all around me, fire!

fire, hot, too close, need to get away -

no way out except up...

up a brick wall, bits of mortar ripped out beneath my talons, but there's enough purchase to reach the top...

Suddenly, all is silence.

Still clinging to the wall, I try to still my heart that's still galloping me towards frenzy even as my fear-crazed sight returns to normal.

The surviving fighter is picking himself up off the street and retrieving the fallen man's sword, turning to go.

I drop down from the wall I've scrambled up. "Wait!" I call after him, fading back into normal view.

He turns around.

"I need to talk to you!" I raise my hand in appeal, and as I see my taloned fingers I realize that my Mask has failed in all the excitement and I'm confronting this skilled swordsman with all my Nosferatu ugliness.

I freeze, both to calm myself completely and to prevent provoking him further. Although I don't doubt my ability to fight someone who is still essentially human, even if immortal, it wouldn't serve my purpose if we met as antagonists. After all, I'm here to ask for his help, not to browbeat him into it.

However, he doesn't attack. His whole stance is that of someone who has traveled the widths and depths of human existence, who won't be swayed from his course even by the appearance of someone who looks like me. He'd go through me if I stood in his way, but he wouldn't attack me just for being what I am.

Confident in my assessment, I take a moment to look at him properly. He's very handsome with his tall and broad-shouldered physique, his long black hair and brown eyes; I'd even go so far as to say that he's classically beautiful. In fact, he embodies what, back in my Breathing Days, we used to consider the ideal of masculine beauty.

He, however, is done looking at me. "_Aperxesde Daimone_," he finally says, almost wearily and strangely casually, given that he apparently takes me for a demon he wants to banish. It's almost as if he's been through this before, and not once but several times. But I find it makes sense to me. Of course he would think me a demon considering my appearance, and a fighter such as he would not be afraid even of the denizens of the netherworld.

Abruptly, he turns to go.

"I'm not a demon," I call after him, still off-balance and afraid I'll lose this chance. "I want to talk to you. Please don't go." I realize I'm speaking ancient Greek again in response to his use of the language. Also, there's something familiar about this man, like a very old memory prodding at me.

He continues to walk away, and I see no recourse but to use a brief burst of supernatural speed to move ahead of him and block his path. I can't let him leave, for Callum's sake.

Of course, he is startled, and anger blazes in his dark eyes as he utters a brief oath at my appearance in front of him.

"Listen to me," I plead, "I need your help."

That's as far as I get before he comes at me, apparently to push me aside. I grab hold of his hands to immobilize him and the sword he's still holding, when suddenly, close as I am now to him, memory falls into place. "Agaros?" I ask, amazed. Can it be?

He ceases his attempt to shake off my hold and looks at me, resignation still evident in his expression. "Very well, demon," he says, "if you won't leave me alone, then end this!"

And he hands me his sword.

I stare at it, and at him. "Agaros," I say softly, "I'm not a demon. I remember you." But then, looking into his eyes and seeing the rage still there, I realize that it's useless. We need to take this reunion elsewhere. "Please come with me. We can talk, and then we can decide what to do." Agaros is still looking uncooperative, so I try smiling at him. "We've met before, Agaros, more than three thousand years ago. I'm Daedalus."

For a long moment, he merely looks at me. Then he opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Suddenly, he engulfs me in a hug that holds more than a hint of desperation. "_Daidalos_," he whispers urgently, "help me."

The ancient pronunciation of my name evokes memories I had long since buried, of blue skies and white buildings and mortal worries of reputation and destiny, but I push them aside ruthlessly. My concern now must be for the man who is holding on to me so desperately, his fighter's stance abandoned and his weapon in my hand. All the fury has left him as he surrenders to me, whom he took for a demon only moments ago.

I realize that maybe Agaros and Callum might just possibly be able to aid each other. "Everything will be all right," I soothe him, holding him up and leading him out of the alley even as I try to remember where Harold left his car.

It is now quite dark, so I risk being seen with my true face rather than confuse Agaros with a shape change. The car's tinted windows make discovery unlikely. Even so, I further minimize the risk by avoiding the main streets. It still only takes a few minutes to reach the hospital.

As we approach the building, I notice my passenger suddenly growing tense. "Agaros," I say softly as I pull into a parking spot, "it's alright. You're safe here."

"There's someone here," he growls. "I'm warning you. If this is a trap..."

"I swear to you, Agaros. It's not a trap." I get out of the car and open his door for him.

"Very well," he says indifferently.

I let him precede me so I can hide myself from normal view without him noticing should we meet any of the hospital staff. Always before, I entered the hospital via the sewers to avoid being seen. It's strange to use the "official" entrance and the elevator.

Fortunately, we encounter no one, and finally the door to Callum's private quarters opens to reveal my young friend sitting on his bed holding his head.

"Och, ma heid," he moans as he looks up.

Instantly, I'm concerned. Ignoring Agaros, I step forward. "What is it, Callum?"

He smiles. "Daedalus. Hey. Nothing, just a headache. And it's gone now," he adds in a surprised tone. Then he notices Agaros behind me.

Before I can make the introductions, Agaros growls, "This is but a boy. I don't fight boys."

"I'm glad to hear that," Callum answers him with a disarming smile, "because I can't fight. But maybe we can talk."

The two of them are looking at one another, appraising.

"Callum, he's like you. This is Agaros."

Callum nods, keeping up his polite smile.

"Actually, I'm going by the name of Marcos now, _Daidalos_," Agaros informs me without taking his eyes off Callum.

"I see." I can also see that I'm no longer needed here, so I leave the two of them to themselves.

* * *

_**Callum**_

To my amazement, Marcos follows me to my office. He slinks behind me like a beaten dog, and we come to sit down on the sofa, one keeping to each corner, establishing a polite distance. He seems to anticipate that I'm about to do something strange and suspicious to him, and although he has the air of a broken man, there is still some kind of invincible pride in his pose, some ancient awareness, waiting for me to make the first move. I know that this move shouldn't come out wrong.

It makes no sense to tell someone who is in such a state of mind that he is in rage, or hurt, or that he should calm down. The appropriate reaction you usually get for this is, they either get mad at you, or they simply beat it. The only thing that works most of the time is to play by their rules, and then to let it grow on them, slowly. Hence, I propose to talk, still unsure if what he means by talking is what I have in mind, too.

He answers almost automatically: "_Youh_, I like talking to you. I always like to talk to a handsome boy." And he stares at me with what is supposed to be a leer, maybe out of an old habit, but comes out as an empty gesture.

I answer his look with an open smile and his words with a suitably empty phrase. "Why, thanks. I always like it when strong and powerful men make smart compliments." And I wink an eye at him, not feeling very sure if it's the right thing to do.

His eyes narrow just a bit, but he obviously doesn't take my seemingly helpless attempts to flirt with him as inadequate behaviour, for he is much too convinced of himself. Instead, he leans forward and puts his hand on my arm, watching my reaction. When I go on grinning as if I am only too glad about this move of his, he suddenly seems to feel uncomfortable and retreats to the safety of his corner.

I let one, two breaths pass before I talk again, "You must have come a long way, Marcos."

"I have." He eyes me suspiciously now, unsure what I'm about to say or do next. To my utter surprise, I'm enjoying this thoroughly, although I know that I shouldn't let myself be carried away by this momentary superiority I experience. It can change all too soon.

I say, "I presume you haven't talked to a shrink like me often, but I can assure you that I won't play any psychological games with you." It is a blunt lie, but I feel I can risk it.

This seems to pull the right trigger, though, for his cheeks are blushing slightly now, and his superficial easiness is more and more replaced by some kind of edginess. "No one plays games with my mind. I am quite assured of myself, thanks all the same."

"Of course you are." I try to be honest and calculating at the same time. "Who would be, if not you." I let the words sink in, then add: "And yet you're here now."

"As I said…," he starts, then stops abruptly and looks at me, and I can see that the emotions he's still hiding are close to the surface now. His voice is hoarse. "Could it be you lured me here?"

I smile once more, this time in order to provoke him. "Me? Lure you? Why, Marcos, I'm honoured, but I don't think I'd have the power to do so. A man as experienced as you are…"

"Stop it!" He interrupts me. "None of this!" And he finally allows his anger to show.

I have him where I wanted him. Now I can work with him. "You're angry."

Marcos stands up, and for a moment it looks as if he's about to leave the room. But, as I thought, he does nothing of the sort. Instead, he starts the habitual up-and-down stride of the annoyed and mighty, muttering to himself rather than to me, "Angry. I am. I've been angry for so long. It just won't stop, whatever I do. It won't stop!"

"Marcos, please sit down again," I retort. "I'm here. I can help you. All you have to do is trust me."

He stops in his tracks, but he won't sit down; not yet. "You want me to trust you." His fists are clenched now, a good sign if you ignore the fact that the next thing might be them hitting you. "I've trusted others, and none of them survived! How could you help me then!" His voice sounds a bit animal now, but just so much as not to worry me. "I trusted them, and they betrayed me! No one can help me! Not even you!"

Suppressing the urge to get up and take him into my arms to comfort him, I remain seated, saying nothing. There he looks at me. I smile, just a little bit, not to scorn him, but as a sign of reassurance. Then the rage washes off him, just a little bit, and he shakes his head to himself, "I'm a fool. I behave like a fool, too. How would you… You don't need to watch this."

"Yet I do. And what I see is nothing but an angry man. Angry and hurt. I would like to know more about you, and more about what trust and friendship mean to you."

A sigh escapes his lips, almost a sob, but he controls himself, forcing his breathing to calm, and sits down by my side again. Then he shakes his head once more, in what I call the "Greek fashion", and forces a grin. "You are astounding, Callum McKay. Watching me like this, still unafraid."

"But I am very much afraid of you, Marcos," I reply. "Don't be fooled by my expression, it's just a mask I wear."

"A mask? So, why don't you take it off?"

"I might. But as long as I'm in control, there's at least one of us. Why don't you take off your own mask, Marcos?"

For a moment, his anger seems to override his will to talk to me, but he fights it down once more, "I could be offended now. But feel free, boy. If you want control, that's what you'll get." And with this, he leans back, waiting.

I am pretty sure that we will talk about the important things quite soon, but I must make my site safe by establishing a little bit more contact between the two of us. Time to change the subject. "You have a wife and children?"

There it is again, the sad smile. "I have. A wife. She won't remember me, but then, I don't know if she's ever known me. The children are not mine. We cannot have children. Our marriage was based on love." He gives a harsh laugh. "It was a joke, from the very beginning."

"You don't love her?"

"I loved her, at first. Things can happen. Feelings can change."

I could talk about feelings now, but this will have to wait until we're there. "How many children?"

"Eight. Three boys and five girls." The answer comes automatically, even a bit proudly. "Two of the boys must be of age, now, and the girls…" Then, just as suddenly, he stops and turns towards me, grinning, "You do not want me to talk about my children, are you."

"Not necessarily. But I want to listen to you."

"I thought we had that kind of talk already."

"It's up to you, Marcos. I'll listen. If you wanna talk."

Now he closes the distance between us, and I can feel the heat radiating off his skin. He smells of his natural most intriguing musk and sandalwood and, God, he looks gorgeous with his tussled black mane, dark skin, brown eyes, rippling muscles, all the Greek clichés nicely combined in one big temptation. His voice is appealing, too. But it isn't the first time I'm tempted by a client, and this time I dead sure I won't follow the call. So I just answer his stare until he goes on speaking. "I haven't talked like this in years, why should I start now?"

"Because," I inhale his scent deeply to show him my approval, "you haven't talked like this for years. Besides, I have a task for you in mind, but I won't tell you about it if I'm not convinced that you're up to it." I expect him to say something like, 'A task? Me?' or the like, but none of it happens. He remains quiet instead, giving a slight nod to himself, and waiting for me to continue.

"This outburst of rage, does it happen to you very often?"

"What do you mean?"

"Has it happened to you before?" I repeat.

Marcos seems to have come to a conclusion, and relaxes a little while answering: "It has, several times. But not for so long a time, not before."

This makes me go on a bit bolder, "So – what are you gonna do about it?"

"What do you mean?" He actually smiles.

Again, I patiently repeat my question. "What are you gonna do about it?"

"I don't know." he shakes his head Greek fashion again, and adds: "You think I'll find out while talking to you?"

"You might find out just that, yes."

Marcos leans back just a little bit, so we can look each other into the eyes, and says: "So, we talk."

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

Having delivered Agaros to Callum (and having told myself sternly not to eavesdrop), I feel at a loss as to what to do with myself. It is early evening, Callum is busy, so I wander up and down the hospital aisles for a few minutes, trying to put everything in perspective.

If all works out as planned, my dearly loved Callum will soon find out the facts about his new existence. I can only hope that he'll continue to let me be a part of his new life rather than move on to brighter – and more beautiful – things. And judging by the fact that Agaros, whose very name means beautiful, is part of this world, I can't help but wonder if Callum won't be drawn to that and lose whatever blinders he's been wearing to finally see me true.

Agaros. When I last saw him, millennia ago and on another continent, he was worlds removed from the angry, resigned man I encountered in that dark San Francisco alley. Back then, he was general of an army of Spartans, full of life and fight and possessed of an infectious smile. His men where proud to serve under him, and they loved him. He was irresistible.

What could have happened to him?

His immortal life, certainly. It is no easy thing to remain while all else passes, friends and lovers and even the cities and lands and rivers if you're around long enough. But, come to think of it, who is to say that Agaros wasn't immortal already when I knew him? Only with my Kindred senses am I able to tell the difference; when I was still human surely I couldn't.

No, it must have been something that happened recently, something Callum may be finding with his transcender's senses even now, and will probably cure him of. Then they'll build a relationship of teacher and student, and when Agaros regains his former charms, Callum will probably forget me. After all, what am I, compared to this man? I'm forced to hide in the shadows, slink around in the sewers, manipulate the world from below, and occasionally deliver Final Death to my fellow monsters, while Agaros stands in the light and led men into glorious battle to shape the history of mankind. He's as radiantly beautiful as I am ugly. No comparison. No competition.

Realizing I'm about to slip into completely unfounded depression, I give myself a mental shake. No need to borrow trouble.

Well, I'm here now, in the hospital, so I might as well use the time to bring what help I can to my children.

Little Johnny is still having nightmares. Like many children, he's convinced that there are monsters under his bed. The easy solution to this problem is to tell him that there are no monsters. Of course, I can't tell him that. I'd feel like a complete hypocrite. Besides, who would believe a man with fangs and talons, who doesn't breathe or eat and looks like a monster, claiming that there are no monsters?

So I tell him that only a few monsters are really evil. Most are nice once you get to know them. And besides, they are more scared of him than he is of them. And the ones under his bed, who must be really tiny to fit under there, are most certainly not evil.

It's not an ideal solution, but I'll have to leave that to Callum.

Little Mandy only wants to be held. That, at least, is something I can do, and it will save Callum some time. She hasn't been able to talk about what affects her so without breaking into tears, and then all she does is cling to whoever is close, for hours on end if we let her.

With an aching heart, I cradle her small body, her blonde little head buried in my shoulder. The first time I held her, she complained very softly about my cold hands, but this doesn't seem to be a problem anymore. When she's beginning to relax, I softly sing to her, using the powers of my Clan to calm her and put her to sleep.

Next, little Daniel.

As usual, his face lights up in greeting as he sees me. Compared to the other two, he looks cheerful and happy, and I realize that soon there will be no need anymore to let him remain here. We'll have to find him a good family that will be able to support and nourish his talents. It'll be a sad night to see him go, more so than the other children who didn't need us anymore.

"Daedalus," he says, suddenly subdued, "please tell me I can stay with you? Callum said that now that I'm well again, I'll have to be adopted, and he can't do that, so can you adopt me? Please?"

Once again, I'm at a loss for words, struck dumb by kindness.

"It's all right," he says, switching to ancient Greek. "I already figured out that you're a vampire. I don't mind. I love you, Daedalus. Let me stay with you. Please?"

I stare at him. "Child," I stammer, "I'd love to take you in. But it wouldn't be wise." I grind to a halt, searching for words.

"Why not?" he demands. "I bet I could learn lots of things from you. And I can be quiet, you wouldn't even know I'm there."

I smile sadly. "Trust me, I would always know you're there. The point is, you need to be among humans, Daniel. You need to learn about them, not about me. You need to travel, to experience the things you're reading about in your books." I gesture to his small library, full of books about cultures ancient and recent.

He looks at me out of big blue eyes. "Please."

I close my eyes against his pain. "I'm sorry, child. We will find someone for you, I promise. We won't let you go into an orphanage. I will take you in for the duration if that happens. But ultimately, you need someone who can teach you all the things I can't."

"You've already taught me to pronounce Attic Greek correctly," he says softly, and I realize he's right. After listening to me for a few nights, he now does sound like someone who lived two and a half thousand years ago, not like a modern scholar who learned the language from books. "Who else could have taught me that?"

I stare at him, an idea forming in my mind.

* * *

_**Callum** _

It is thus: And because it is almost epic, I will put it into a little mini-epos.

He came from another world. Out of the depths of the Greek wilderness, the ragged cliffs of an island long dead, the Minoan warrior rose to meet his final combat. He was filled with rage, a relentless fury about a death he could not fight, the loss of a friend he had not been able to keep. The Spartans, they say, were made of dragon teeth sown into a battlefield satiated with blood, and indeed, if anyone was worthy of this title, it was Marcos.

He stalked the world, trying to clench his thirst for revenge, yet unable to find comfort in the losses he caused. For ten years now, he has been on this futile journey of his, never coming to rest, never leaving his wounds to heal. When he strode along the Golden Gate Bridge, he was about to meet his one opponent who would bring this journey to an end.

Thing is, he never met this special opponent, his thirst for revenge not being of the sort that could ever be satiated. It was just another head he took. But then, he met Daedalus. My beloved Nosferatu friend could not help him, but he brought him here, and I could help him go through some of the stages that have made him feel that way for the last couple of years. Now he is sleeping, and I think he's found some peace.

It is almost dawn, and I haven't had any sleep, but I will start as soon as possible with the children today, because once Marcos is up again, I won't find the time to talk to them. Something in my mind tells me that the next session with Marcos will be a long one, and what is more, one that won't be interrupted.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

Caring for the children has kept me busy all night; I'm surprised to feel dawn approaching. Maybe there's still time to find Callum and find out about the things he learned. I'm as curious as I've ever been about this new... species, is what I should probably call it.

Approaching his private quarters, I'm assailed by the thought that maybe he's not alone. Agaros had a certain reputation back when I knew him. Granted, he didn't look like initiating an affair would be the first thing on his mind, but I still hesitate before knocking.

Callum answers immediately, which instantly dispels my doubts.

"Oh, hi, Daedalus," he greets me as I enter. "I was just about to hit the sack."

"Do you have a few minutes?" I don't want to keep him from his sleep, but my curiosity will surely keep me up all day if I don't get at least some answers now.

"But of course, dear."

Once more, his unconditional affection for me almost flattens me. So far, repeated exposure to it doesn't lessen the effect, and I wonder if it ever will. "Have you learned anything to help you from Agaros?" I ask, fighting to keep my voice steady.

He looks confused. "What? Oh, Marcos. That's his name now. Yep, quite enough actually."

Oh yes, Marcos. Reminding myself to stop using the old name, I look at Callum with undisguised eagerness. "Will you tell me about it?"

"In a nutshell: I'm immortal." He interrupts this startling revelation by stifling a yawn. "They chop off heads, collecting the energy that makes us go on and…" I nod as he trails off. Apparently, it was one of those fights I witnessed when I met Agaros – Marcos. "I will need someone who can teach me how to fight," Callum goes on. "With a sword. Just imagine. It's just as Sean told me, everything. So… I bet I'll be calling at Chao-dai's some time this week, for he's the one who shall be my teacher. Dramatic, uh?" He smiles at me, looking torn between making light of his new life and being intimidated by it.

I seize the one point of importance. "Are you in danger?" It certainly sounds like it. And if that duel I saw is any indication...

"What? Oh, no, not immediately. I'm still a cub, ya ken."

That almost makes sense, but in any society there are people – beings – who don't play by the rules. I vow then and there to protect him, at least for as long as he still can't protect himself. No sword-bearing immortal will get close to my Callum while I'm there to prevent it.

Starting now. I look around his living quarters, thinking about spending the day here. I can easily stay awake for a few more hours, and should he be attacked later, I would rather face Final Death myself than let Callum be killed while I rest and do nothing.

Callum's hand on my face interrupts my thoughts. Gently, he turns my face towards him. "You're worried about me?"

I look into his eyes so close to mine. "Swords were mentioned. And the chopping off of heads. Of course I'm worried."

He smiles his loving smile that still has the power to stir my heart into beating. "How sweet."

No one has ever called me that before.

"D'you wanna stay?" he breathes, his hand still on my face, not letting me look away. "With me?"

"Yes," I force out.

And then I smile, all thoughts about Agaros or even hiding my ugly teeth discarded, and, wrapping Callum in my arms, I lift him up and carry him to his bed.

It is only until later in the day that the full extent of my folly becomes apparent to me. Now that Callum is asleep at last, I realize that of course I can't spend the day here, in this easily accessible room where any mortal may walk in and see me at any time. I should have known that immediately, and I feel an upsurge of anger at myself. Obviously, Callum not only inspires me to make rash decisions, he also keeps me from second-guessing myself.

Or even from thinking clear thoughts. Gods, it must be almost noon already, and I feel like I'm only now becoming aware of the enormous risk I'm taking. I begin to disentangle myself from him and look around to find my clothes, but then I pause to look down on his naked body.

Did we really...?

A visceral memory assails me, of his hands and mouth on me, evoking pleasure so intense as I only ever felt it back in those nights when killing for blood was not an offense punishable by Final Death. Oh, the ecstasy of completely draining a vessel – I had thought this incomparable feeling was forever lost to me when I swore to uphold the Traditions and joined the Camarilla all those centuries ago.

Callum... he touched me – and -

If this is what sex is about, then I instantly forgive Julian for all his transgressions. Even more, I'm going to pester him until he accepts my most humble apology for every scornful thought I ever had about his dalliances, of which there were many. Scornful thoughts, that is. And dalliances too, certainly.

He touched me, put his hand on me, and then he moved his fingers -

I finally locate the rest of my clothes and sit back down on the bed to slip on the leather inlays that protect my shoes from my talons. They're in a sorry condition and will have to be replaced soon. Strange. They usually last longer than a month, but considering how much I've been up and about these last weeks, I probably shouldn't be surprised. Behind me, I hear Callum stir in his sleep.

He put his... mouth on me... and _sucked -_

The hems of my pants are dirty. Strange. I can't remember when that happened. We used Harold's car coming here, and I haven't been traveling the sewers since. Be that as it may, I certainly can't go to Julian looking like this... or smelling like this. We're both covered in... body fluids. I can't just put on my clothes. I look over to the bathroom door. Maybe a quick shower...

Which is where I first felt Callum's body close to mine, and his hands on my -

There's a taste of blood in my mouth. Did I...? No. I bit my own hand at one point; I remember that.

On the heels of this memory follows a confusing impression of myself lying on top of Callum, and of pleasure so acute that the memory of it overwhelms all else, but I seem to recall rhythmic movement, and Callum's hands gliding down my back, parting my -

I growl. Stop this, you ugly, lovesick fool! You're up on the surface, you're alone without backup, it's day, you've got to stop this pathetic behavior and move!

I finally scrape up the presence of mind to take a quick shower and dress without becoming distracted again. Callum has slept through all of it – he must be exhausted, and I feel remorse for further keeping him from his rest with my purely selfish needs.

And yet, I know I would do it again. I need him. I love him.

* * *

To be continued... 


	9. First Movement

**Chapter 9 - First Movement**

* * *

For disclaimer see chapter 1

* * *

_**Callum**_

When I open my eyes, slowly coming to, I already know that Daedalus isn't by my side any more. It is this familiar feeling of an empty space beside me, already cooling. Of course, I know, he cannot stay during daytime, it would be much too dangerous. I would have liked him to stay, though, but I wonder if he wouldn't have left, anyway. I wonder if I would have stayed. It has been a strange morning. Very nice, but strange.

I do have quite a sense of romance, but I am not used to that kind of hanky-panky. Being lifted up and carried to the bed, oh my, there probably was not one among my past lovers who'd have thought of doing something like this, let alone being able to do so, given the fact that I am not really tiny. I smile at the memory of his strong arms hauling me up like a rag doll, and my smile turns into a big grin at the thought of Daedalus' face when I peeled off his clothes, and especially when I peeled off mine. I didn't see much of his face afterwards, but he must have looked really flabbergasted most of the time, because, as I grew aware of quite soon, none of what we did seems to have happened to him before.

Well, what was it we did? I smirk again while dragging myself out of bed, trying to jog my memory and body for the strenuous task in front of us. Ach well. A blow-job. Some rimming. Lots of petting. Touchy-feely beginner's stuff. Yeah, I hate myself for thinking so, but it's true. And I did it for both of us, I enjoyed myself greatly. I really like him a lot, and just think about it – he is so old, and I'm so young, and yet… Regarding sex, I have already waded through all the swamps of life, whereas he is still on meadow number one. It must be also true that I have an unholy fascination with this paradox, a man as big and powerful as Daedalus, helpless in my arms… Johnny would often chide me for this, I can see him with my inner eye, he would wag his finger in front of me, warning me about the risks I am taking by seeking out the big guys all the time; the powerful ones.

But – isn't it all about power? No, it's not. Daedalus has stirred other thoughts and feelings in me, too, and they keep coming up every now and then, and they contribute greatly to my well-being. Couldn't it be, couldn't it just be that I don't just want to spend lots of more nights, but that I in fact would love to spend my whole life with him (or, considering, the better part of my existence)? Couldn't it be true that, besides the fact that he is big and powerful, he is also ever so good for me, with his wit, the way he looks at me, the way he talks, in other words: that we are made for each other? And isn't it true that it's me who is thinking the candyfloss thoughts now?

Further thoughts on this topic will have to be postponed, though, for it is already late in the day, and there are worried colleagues to be reassured that their new boss won't clear out, kids to be looked after, and a desperate warrior from the past, who is temporarily staying in a storeroom next to my room, waiting for my help. Nice prospect. Again, all about power… Ach, Callum, you're naughty.

And again, I find no time to drive to the monastery. I can only hope that my desperate warrior isn't after my head in spite of everything, and I'll have to go on postponing my visit at Chao-dai's. I actually don't see the need to go there now, anyway, as Marcos can tell me everything I need to know about this immortal subculture I'm a part of now.

Daniel is less worried than I thought. In fact, he is almost unmoved by my visit, and his former alacrity has been replaced by some sulking melancholy. It doesn't take me long to realize why this is so, for I find an article about modern archaeology from an older history magazine – written by his parents. I look at the photo while putting the magazine aside; so, this is what his parents looked like: handsome, highly intelligent geeks. No wonder he's just like them.

The boy is sitting on the floor in a corner of the room, and I come to sit by his side. When he still doesn't utter a word, I feel fear rising inside me that he has a relapse. I put my arm around his shoulders, and he cuddles close to me, sighing. Well, at least his voice hasn't left him entirely. It is cruel, but I have to take this chance to get through to him, now that he is in such an emotional state, it is just too important to let it pass. I say, "They were nice folks, your parents, by the look of it."

Daniel hides his face in my chest and answers almost inaudibly, "Yes."

Giving myself another thrust, I ramble on, "I bet they knew a whole lot about archaeology, and old graves and the like."

This time, the answer is almost a sob, and I can feel his head nod.

"Almost as much as you know."

Now Daniel turns his head up to me and replies, "Callum, you know that I can't know more than my parents." Then his face goes from reproachful to sad in an instant. "They were the best."

It hurts me as much as him, and yet I have to stick my finger into the wound. "And now they're dead."

He nods into my chest again. I go on: "Daniel, we've never before talked about how your parents died."

"No," he answers in a choked voice.

"Daniel. Could it be you were there when it happened?"

Now he starts trembling. I know that I'm close, oh so close, but I still have to go on. "Did you see how it happened? Did you watch?"

The storm breaks that fast that even I am a bit shocked, it all pours out of him in one big effusion: "I told them, but they didn't hear me! I wanted to shout, but I couldn't! And then the chain… and I… and I told them, and they just said I should shut up… But the chain broke, and then… and then… and there was so much noise and dust and things, and then everything was quiet, and I shouted, but I was too late, and then they wouldn't answer, and I should have shouted earlier, I could see it, I could have warned them, but I just couldn't shout. It was my fault, Callum! I could have warned them, and I didn't! I could have done something!" And with this, he clutches at me and finally cries out the ocean of his agony.

Now I can see it clearly: I had sensed before something dark and big falling. It was a huge covering slab from a stone grave or something like that, and the chain broke, and poor little Daniel had to watch his parents die underneath. That's what kept him from mourning: he felt guilty not only for being unable to warn them, but in his agonized little soul this guilt was spread and stretched until he found himself responsible for the whole accident.

All I can do right now is hold him and let the storm pass. Then we can talk about the subject of guilt, and other emotions.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

Serenity.

The thought enters my head as I regard the symphony of colors and shapes. Considering, I turn my head to the side to gain another perspective, but there's no doubt about it. Serenity. Calm. Contentment. Possibly, happiness.

I didn't know I could paint like this.

And other things I didn't know, either; that drawing a breath into lungs that don't really need air feels so good, that linseed oil smells like this, that a lighter flame looks like this, that tobacco smoke tastes like this.

I thought I knew what being in love felt like. Apparently, I was wrong. I discover that I'm humming to myself - another revelation - and that I have no intention of stopping. And I can't stop thinking about Callum either, about what we did, how he made me feel, and how much I want to do it again.

* * *

_**Callum**_

It is done. After a long day and another night without a single minute of sleep, I am finally on my own again. Marcos is somewhat stable now, and our future talks will make sure he stays that way for some time. Apart from being charming and extremely eloquent, once in a talkative mood, he is also quite grateful, and I am very much looking forward to talking to him again.

But now I'm dead on my feet. Even an immortal has his limits, and two days and almost two nights without sleep are definitely too much. I head for my quarters and lie down for a long nap. It turns out to be four hours long, to be precise, until I have to get up again for my morning consulting hours. But four hours isn't enough, regarding the fact that we were talking for, what, hey, more than six hours, and before, the long day, the even longer night…

Talking to Marcos was like going through my whole exam in one day, once more with feeling. Suddenly it's afternoon, I realize that I again won't go to the monastery. There simply are much more important things I need to do now, like taking a shower.

Partially refreshed and thoughts settled, I remember Julian, my almost gonna-be sire. He knows about Daedalus' findings, of course, and yet I can imagine that he is still worried about the things that happened, especially because he hasn't had word from me for the last two nights. I would be. And we were so close. And the things I felt and thought were – not entirely my feelings and thoughts. So close. I want to see him now, I must see him as soon as possible. I am sure he feels the same and will be pleased to hear my voice.

I search for his number for some desperate ten minutes until I realize that I had put the Prince on speed dial. Lack of sleep still takes its toll. I dial "one". An unfamiliar voice answers the phone, announcing Luna Estate. I ask for Julian, and am kept waiting without further notice. Then, finally, the master's voice rings out of the earpiece. "Callum."

My heart leaps, and as always, I give a short laugh to override my excitement. "Julian. How nice to talk to you…"

"Same here," he interrupts me, and his tone of voice suggests that this isn't the best moment for chitchat. He probably just got up from his coffin. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, well, quite a lot of things," I can't keep myself from saying this, he always gives such nice through balls. "But to be honest, there is just one thing, and it's pressing. I must see you, Julian."

"You must."

"I must." I exhale, almost sighing, as if it was the right thing to be flirtatious now.

"Well." It seems he is ruffling his calendar. But then, I hear him smile. "How about tonight?"

"What? Oh. Yes, of course. Where shall we meet?"

"My place."

"What? Oh." I feel like an utter fool now. "Of course, Julian. Your place. I just thought we could eat something… Go out…"

I hear him smile again. "If you don't like the Luna cuisine, we can go out next time."

"Julian, I didn't mean… How could I have known?" I wouldn't even have thought he had a kitchen, and especially not a cuisine, at that. "I'll be there by nine, if that's okay with…"

"That'll do nicely," he interrupts me again. "See you."

And before I can answer, he hangs up.

I am excited, if a bit annoyed. The phone call was somewhat business-like and quite different from what I had in mind, yet I feel like a teenager in love. But I am not in love, and I haven't been for a long time, and if ever I fall in love again, it is more likely that Daedalus will be the centre of my attention. Julian is far too opportune and far too popular, as it were.

And far too business-like, thinking about it. But… business-like can be sexy…

So, we have a date. So it'll be at his place, and it'll be tonight. So what. He wants us to talk in private, with no one eavesdropping and possibly no one watching Julian Luna go out with me. Makes sense, and makes me sigh. Damn, he is good. And there still is this little dark fantasy of mine, in the back of my head, about Daedalus and him… I can't help it.

And yet. Just a day ago, I spent a couple of loving hours with Daedalus, Julian's closest friend. What kind of man am I, that I dare think about doing something similar with Julian now? But it is so very much intriguing, they both are so different, so… attractive. It just makes sense, I can't tell why.

One thing is obvious: the bond between them. I could feel it from the very beginning, I could feel it when I watched them while I died, just imagine, Julian called _his_ name, not mine. Maybe I find out more about the other thoughts and feelings, the ones that were close to the surface and transferred while Julian and I were "one".

The memory arouses me again, every time I think about it. We were so close to having sex, so I'll be damned if we won't go all the way next time we meet. No matter what I did with Daedalus.

And yet. I know that Julian is as straight as can be, and I have no intention of seducing him. He won't be seduced, anyway, he's far too big. No, it is more like a mutual necessity I sense, something that has been going on between the two of us, and if not, well, then I'm mistaken and all the things I felt and saw must have been a product of my imagination. I must admit that I am somewhat confused.

Upon entering Luna Manor, I realize that I haven't really seen the house before. I know I've been here for my transformation gone wrong, but I must have missed all the details, understandably, because of excitement. Now I am excited, too, but much more aware of my surroundings.

Luna Manor is a huge, old house – old for American standards, at least – with that nice creamy colour and all the turrets and pillars that make such a big house look even more impressive and castle-like, if a bit too curly for my taste. Well, at least one thing that's not straight about Julian. The great hall seems to come from an old movie, as is the whole interior, including the host who is just now materializing out of the shadows (by going down the staircase) in order to welcome me personally. He looks more gorgeous than ever, not only because of the dinner jacket (I didn't know they come in black, too), but also because of the enticing smile on his face.

We greet each other cordially, and while I fight back the urge to take him in my arms, like we were the last time we met, he turns to see me to his dining room. It is empty.

When I look around a bit puzzled, Julian faces me and smiles again. "I thought you might like a romantic table set for two…" he says smugly, letting the words trail a bit, just to make me glare, before adding, "So I had one set in the winter garden."

"Julian, you're bad," I chide him jokingly, and grinning happily, I take his hand before I realize my audacity.

He looks at both our hands, not pulling his back at once, and his expression falters ever so slightly while he makes as if to say something. Then he shrugs off whatever emotion might have tried to catch up with him, shrugs off my hand, too, and avoids me as before. "Come."

It is a lovely setting: table, candles and the like – tasteful, but not kitschy. We have our splendid little dinner in silence, and I realize to my personal amazement that Julian does indeed manage to eat – and I try to bear in mind that he sets especially great store by the dessert. Finally, the coffee arrives, together with some special drink for Julian (I am cautious enough not to ask), and we both lean back and look at each other.

We remain looking at each other for some time, both of us apparently unsure what to talk about. At last, I say, "This is nice." He inclines his head, as usual, and scrutinizes me, obviously in expectation of what I'm going to say next. Hence, I won't disappoint him. "I mean, sitting here, with you. Nice. After all we've shared."

"I embraced you. It is not that we…"

He falters, and I help him out, "… that we had sex or the like."

"Or the like."

"Yes." I smile warmly. "And yet it is the most intimate thing you can have, right?"

Now he leans forward like a predator before his pounce. "It is, indeed."

I put my hand on his, feeling his muscles tense a bit, then relax again without pulling back. "I remember every detail, Julian," I whisper.

For another precious moment, his eyes get this special shine, then he pulls his hand free and leans back again. "As I said: We were close because of that. It's not that we've shared anything physical." And then his face becomes the reliable mask I am used to looking at.

"Yes, Julian," I say, complying with his attitude, and smile, quite blankly.

He takes the chance to change the subject. "How are things working out for you at the hospital?"

I am missing the obligatory final 'then', but luckily it won't come. No, I'm not that easily turned down. "Fine, thanks. Julian… About what we shared…"

"It was my intention to make you my childe," he interrupts me, somewhat annoyed, but at least I have him now. A bit more calmly, even regretfully, he adds: "We failed."

"I liked what you did, though."

"Of course. Our kiss is pleasurable."

"Kiss. Yeah." Makes me smile again. "Euphemisms everywhere. You sucked my blood, and we both liked it a lot."

However, it won't make him smile. "If you want to put it so… crudely. Mortal language is no better. You sleep with someone when you have sex with someone."

Again, I obediently answer on cue, "Whereas having sex is, to be scientifically precise, just what every one of us, well, has; a sex."

Yes, and he is annoyed now, and will probably want me to get to the point, and that is where I want him. Promptly, he says: "What is your point?"

I look at him with what I hope to be my most self-righteous smile. "I want to do it again."

"I would be careful if I were you," he retorts, "You might easily end up being addicted to it. Besides, I doubt that you would want to be my blood-doll."

Blood-doll. Julian, what a nice way to put it. Talking about euphemisms… Never tell me that I will. I always won't, then. "I won't get addicted to anything. I'll be careful. I just like it a lot, because I'm closer to you then." I listen to myself, and realize that I mean exactly what I'm saying. I want to be close to him. Too. Oh, my. So, my emotions have caught up with me, at last.

Julian is sitting there for a little while, looking at me. Then he comes to a conclusion. "If it means that much to you, who would I be to refuse."

Time for me to get up from my suddenly uncomfortable seat. Julian seems to feel the same. And just when I am about to put my arms around his neck, he says: "Did you enjoy the meal?"

This is no time for chit-chat, again, so I just follow through, hugging him close and kissing him. Julian returns the embrace somewhat hesitantly.

Surfacing for breath, I remark: "If this is the only way to shut you up…"

And here, Julian surprises me again, smiling smugly himself now. "I can think of at least one other way." He points in the direction of his bedroom. "Shall we...?"

"You must be kiddin' me. I'm ettlin' tae." No more discussion now. I stride in front of him, almost dragging him after.

We get rid of our shirts, no more. Julian is very strict about that. Anyway, next thing I realize is both of us lying on his bed, sharing this one obscene kiss, before his lips search for a place to bite me. I guide his head further downward, for I've learned that wounds above shoulder-height won't heal easily with immortals like me. His lips meet the delicate spot under my collarbone, and then I feel his teeth piercing my skin ever so softly, yet the sensation is unpleasant for a moment, and I give a soft yelp. His hands are on my back at once, their movement soothing the pain and at the same time, together with his sensuous lips on my skin, evoking another reaction quite familiar to me.

Like before, we are both strongly aroused soon, for different reasons, and yet caused by the same activity. We feel each other's feelings, share this ultimate sensation of intimacy, and it is even stronger than last time, it is in fact stronger than anything I've felt before. Our minds seem to meld, our bodies to be one, and although I have closed my eyes long before this, I seem to be watching us from high above with my mind's eye. He is on top of me now. I feel very light-headed, almost somnolent, and I hear my own voice whisper Julian's name again and again like a mantra.

He lifts his head, and smiles at me with reddened lips. Then, like a cat that has been distracted over its cup of milk, he attentively watches my little wound when the quickening I now posses starts healing it, claiming what is mine, showing little flashes of blue light around the pinpoint holes on my skin. I smile back and wonder what it must feel like, having sucked my blood and now being forced to give back the energy that was extracted. And I want to feel it a bit longer, make it last, all of it. He seems to read my mind and lowers his head once more, and this time he bites just above my nipple, taking it in his mouth while sucking my blood, and it doesn't take long before I black out.

Coming to my senses again some time later, I leave a satisfied and dozing Prince behind, and hurry to get back to my other love, who will be waiting for me at the hospital. All that Julian and I shared was a couple of hours including some blood loss on my side, one soppy kiss – and no sex. And yet I feel about it just like I felt about the night with Daedalus, and something like a bad conscience tries to swirl up in my stomach, for I have indeed betrayed him, somehow. While driving into the parking lot, I come to the conclusion that, in spite of this, I need them, both of them. And although – or maybe, because - my mind is in this special state of extreme wobbliness it dawns on me that this will take some time and a lot of scheming…

* * *

To be continued... 


	10. Sweet Home

**Chapter 10 - Sweet Home**

* * *

_For disclaimer see Chapter 1_

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

"Did you really fly from Crete to Sicily, Daedalus?" Daniel cranes his head so he can look at me from where he's cradled in my arms. "With wings made from wax and feathers?"

He's been asking me questions like this since he learned that, yes, I really am that Daedalus. It's a new experience for me. Among Kindred, it's considered bad taste at best and cause for lasting enmity at worst to be curious about someone's Breathing Days. So, no one so far has asked me if I really had a son named Icarus.

It's also a new experience for Daniel. "I've never talked to a legend before," he confessed when he learned of my true identity. "I don't think anyone ever has. Do you know what this means to a historian? Do you mind if I ask you something?"

I said that, no, I didn't mind. And so I've patiently endured a barrage of questions from the little scholar, and so far he shows no sign of slowing down.

"What do you think?" I reply to his latest question. "It's a legend, Daniel. Legends begin as fact, then they turn into story, then tale, and then into legend. Everyone who tells it adds or changes something to make it more interesting." I smile at the avid interest in the child's face. "That's human nature. Even if something is written down, it gets changed when it's copied or translated into another language. So, child, what are the facts behind this legend?"

He chews his lower lip as he thinks. "The wings couldn't have been made from feathers and wax. They wouldn't have held you up. You're really big!"

"Very good." I refrain from mentioning that, compared to what I looked like before my embrace, I'm a veritable skeleton now. "So, where does that leave us?"

"You didn't make bird's wings."

"Daniel. Think. Why would this legend tell of me flying, no matter what wings I might have used?"

He doesn't even have to think about it. "You were a prisoner of King Minos. You fled from Crete." He raises excited eyes. "You fled. You didn't fly. You escaped."

"Yes."

"So you never flew?"

"Not then."

"But why does the legend tell of you flying? And Icarus flying too close to the sun?"

I harden my heart against the pang I feel at thinking about my son, even after all this time when I can hardly remember his face. "What do you think?" I ask him again.

"Facts from legend," he mumbles, "legend from facts. Hmmm. You escaped, and no one knew how? So they made something up to explain how you could get away from an island without using a ship? And Icarus didn't make it?"

I smile sadly. "Very good, child, but still not quite the truth."

His intensely blue eyes look into mine as if he wants to extract the facts from my mind by sheer force of will, and seemingly without noticing, he grabs one of my hands and begins to play with my talons.

Not for the first time, I wonder at myself. The little transcender will find the whole, painful truth, of that I'm certain. So why am I subjecting myself to this? Why am I volunteering information about myself that others would pay a high price to obtain?

Maybe because I can be certain that this child would not abuse the knowledge. And because it's time I finally faced those memories.

"They couldn't find you," Daniel thinks out loud, tapping his small fingers against the tip of one of my talons. "You could move about on Crete, but you couldn't leave, because all ships were searched. You hid on the island." He freezes, staring down at the monstrous hand he is holding, apparently really seeing it for the first time. "You were... turned into..."

"Yes."

"... a vampire..."

"Yes."

He stares at me. "And Icarus?" he asks very softly.

I draw a breath. "After the change was complete, I sought him out to talk to him, to say good-bye. He didn't recognize me. He fled in terror, and didn't see the cliff edge behind him."

"Oh no."

He looks at me with such pain that I feel the need to comfort him. "It was a very long time ago, child."

"But it still hurts you to think of it."

"Some memories will always hurt. Memories of loved ones, of things lost. It's inevitable."

Suddenly, he reaches out a hand and strokes my cheek. "I'm sorry. Here, I'll make it better."

I hug him. "It's much better already, child."

He nestles into my arms. "So Icarus really did fall into the sea."

"Yes. That part of the legend is true."

He falls silent, his restless fingers again playing with my hand. "You don't look that scary," he finally says softly. "I wouldn't have run away."

"I looked different then." I refrain from mentioning how much time, pain and effort that has cost me.

He nods, accepting it without further questions. "So how did you get off Crete?"

I smile. "I flew."

He pokes me. "No, really."

"Really. I turned into a bird and flew to the mainland, island by island. That was almost two centuries later, but that's how I got off Crete."

"Wow."

I smile.

"Daedalus?"

"Yes, child?"

"Did you really build a labyrinth for King Minos?"

"I built... something for Minos, but that's a story for another night." I begin to disentangle the child from me.

"Did you really make sculptures that had to be chained because they would have walked off otherwise?" He's making a game of clinging to me like a limpet.

"Another night, child."

"Please, Daedalus, you don't have to go. Callum was here earlier, you don't have to make your round tonight." He locks arms and legs around my body and giggles when I get up with him clinging to me.

"It's time for you to sleep."

"I'm not tired."

"All children say that. And I didn't say you were tired. I only said it was time to sleep."

"But I'm not tired."

I sit down on his bed with him still wrapped around me.

"I'll make a deal with you, Daedalus. You tell me one more story, and I'll go to sleep after."

I shake my head. "You go to sleep now, child, and I'll tell you another story tomorrow. That's the deal."

"No deal," he says stubbornly.

"You don't want to hear another story tomorrow?"

"Not if I have to go to sleep now."

I can tell this child spent a lot of time on bazaars. "I'll tell you the true story of the minotaur tomorrow, but only if you go to sleep now."

"The minotaur?" He has to think about it. "Another half hour?"

"No. Now."

"Fifteen minutes?"

"Child."

Abruptly, he abandons his pleading expression as well as his resistance. "Boy, you're a tough cookie."

"Yes. Good night."

"Night, Daedalus." Defeated, he snuggles into his bedding. "But it had better be a good story."

"Don't worry."

* * *

_**Callum**_

"As if getting involved with those strange creatures you don't want to tell me about isn't enough. No, you also have to get between them! Oh, Callum!" Sean's tone of voice is soft, yet I can clearly make out his disapproval, "And you haven't called at Chao-dai's even once. I must say I am somewhat disappointed."

I feel my heart sink. "Sean, I'm sorry. I really am. But it's just that it all happened at once, I didn't have much time to think. I didn't have any time to get used to being immortal. In fact, I didn't even have enough time for the children."

For a long moment, he is silent. Then, fortunately, I hear his voice again, soothing and kind as usual, "I know, Callum. I am not angry with you, not any more. And yet, there is time to do it now, and you have to take those steps. You need a teacher. What is more, there's still this problem with those two men."

"But I…" I try to interject, knowing what's coming up next. He won't let me, though.

"Don't deny it," he interrupts, "You do know perfectly well what you're doing. You seduced, as it seems from what you've told me, a shy man who has never known love before. But as if that wasn't enough, you also got involved with his closest friend. What exactly are you up to, Callum McKay?"

"I don't know." I sigh. I certainly don't. Not really. "And it is not as easy as that. It all has to do with those things I told you I can't tell you. Not even you. I promised. And maybe I already found a teacher." I tell him about Marcos.

Sean is not amused. "An ancient immortal, and what is more, your patient? Callum, how can you trust him?"

"But, Sean, wasn't it you who always told me to trust my instincts? My instincts tell me that he is okay. Well, he will be."

I hear him chuckle. "You have this ability to beat me with my own words. Yes, it's true. I told you to trust your instincts. But your instincts can fail you, maybe, concerning immortals. I know what I am talking about. They certainly failed me, some time ago, when an immortal I trusted with my life went through what we should call a difficult phase of his life and almost killed me."

Now, it is my turn to remain silent for a heartbeat or two. "Almost killed you." And he never told me. "What can I say? Sean, please?"

"I take it you've got yourself involved already, so there is no much use in telling you off, is it? But you should be cautious in any case, Callum. Mind my words."

"I will, Sean. And – thank you for everything."

After the exchange of another couple of polite remarks, I put down the receiver while giving way to another sigh. What a life. I am an immortal and have to learn how to fight with a sword, I am in love with a Nosferatu, and, even worse, also with his Ventrue Prince, and I've just talked to my best friend and teacher who happens to be immortal, too. Suddenly, the whole situation seems to hit home in one heavy, mean stroke. It weighs me down. I can't stand sitting in this room anymore, I hate looking at those hospital walls all the time. I have to get out.

Immortal prey or not, I start walking the streets despite the consequences. Once my feet have started walking, I feel the burden ease, my thoughts running free, my mind calming down. It is a nice warm evening, not too warm, the streets are still a bit damp from the afternoon drizzle that announced the first harbingers of autumn. I inhale the air deeply, it smells of wet leaves and earth. It almost feels like home. For a moment, I imagine my Nosferatu friend following me somewhere, maybe even under ground. But there is no sewer to be seen, and my feet have carried me to a quarter I haven't noticed before.

These streets are different from the broad ones that lead to the hospital. There are trees growing here and there, little patches of garden, houses that remind me of some place far away. As I look up, I see that I am standing in front of a "for sale" sign. It is attached to an old iron gate, still quite in good shape, if but a bit rusty like the rest of the fence. Behind it, there is a narrow path, barely visible amongst the wild shrubbery that has turned the once probably nice garden into a nature reserve. The house is ancient, otherwise unspectacular, apart from the fact that you couldn't live in it the way it is. The holes in the roof would be most distracting.

Maybe with a bit of work… It is a house, after all. I am tempted, and before my thoughts, that is, my instincts catch up with my emotions, I take out my cell phone and call the number. Although it is late in the evening, a friendly female voice answers the phone. The price she tells me is less than I expected. The house has been deserted for years, obviously, and she makes no secret of it, nor of the fact that it once belonged to the average Old Woman Who Remained. We arrange a meeting for tomorrow.

All other problems postponed, I walk home with the strange feeling that this house will be my destiny.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

Leaving Daniel's room, I head for the part of the ward that now harbors a new visitor - or should that be patient? - and I wonder if there is at this moment just one hospital anywhere in the world with quite the same combination of unusual creatures living more or less together: a child prodigy (possibly touched by the hand of fate if I'm interpreting the vision I had correctly), two immortals, one very old, one very young, and a Nosferatu who should certainly know better than to spend so much time in the presence of any of the three.

I tell myself firmly that our shared past is not the reason for my desire to speak to Agaros – no, Marcos – again. I merely want to make sure that he really means no harm to my Callum. I'm almost convinced of Marcos' benevolence, but as I never cease to tell my clanmates, the difference between almost and totally could cost you your unlife, and I'm not about to take another gamble with Callum's life after what I already did to him.

I'll never stop blaming myself for tearing Callum's life apart.

And then, there's Daniel. If my hunch pays off, Marcos, more than any of us the embodiment of living history, may be the ideal new father for the child.

Obfuscated (for the sake of the hospital staff), I reach the door the Marcos' room and enter unseen before it occurs to me that I should have knocked. I shrug. Too late now. I leave the shadows more or less directly in front of Marcos who is sitting on his bed. "May I come in?"

He merely raises his head to look at me. "You may," he says, unfazed by my sudden appearance or the sight of me.

The change in him is remarkable. Gone is the despondency, the anger, the almost fatalistic acceptance I saw three days ago when I found him. He now looks so much like the Agaros I knew all those centuries ago that I have to make a conscious effort not to call him by his old name again. "I hear you are going by the name of Marcos now," I say by way of greeting.

"I am. I know you." Before I have time to wonder if maybe his memory has been affected by the curious energy charge that lanced into him after the conclusion of the duel, he smiles and continues, "I can remember."

"Yes," I say softly, encouragingly.

"Everything. We have an extremely good memory; a curse as well as a boon."

So he's speaking of the past. "It was a long time ago," I say dismissively. "I came to talk to you about something else."

"Daidalos," he says my old name softly, obviously not wanting to let it drop. "Yes, a long time… You were so pretty."

I can hear myself growl as he blatantly ignores the "no trespassing" signals I gave him. This is _not_ something I wish to be reminded of!

Marcos, meanwhile, blithely goes on raking claws over open wounds. "And in love with… what was his name? Yes, it was…"

"It doesn't matter," I interrupt him sharply, feeling my eyes beginning to change color. I will not think of the past, or of Memnos, or of what happened after.

"Not any more, I know." Growing serious, he rises, and, apparently unaware of the fight I'm waging with my self-control, he puts his arms around me. "Daidalos, my friend." He slaps my back, laughing suddenly. "How good to see you!"

My complete and utter astonishment at this exuberance drains my budding anger more effectively than any self-control techniques I could have employed. Helpless once more within an immortal's embrace, I wonder if this tendency to ignore my monstrous looks and to touch me without restraint is a trait unique to immortals. If so, I'll stay away from groups larger than, say, three immortals. I may be undead, but who's to say that an unbeating heart can't suffer a heart attack?

And when will I _finally_ get used to this?

But Marcos is not finished with shattering my composure. Putting his arm around my shoulder, he leads me to the bed.

The bed?

"Come on, sit down with me," Marcos says.

Of course. I realize somewhat belatedly that the bed is the only place to sit down in this tiny room.

"Thank you," I manage, ashamed of the direction my thoughts have taken. Maybe Julian is right. Maybe Callum _is_ a bad influence.

"You know, I didn't even stay with him," he says after a moment.

"It doesn't matter," I repeat firmly, wanting to be done with this. Doesn't he realize that it is too painful for me to speak of this?

"Not any more." Marcos, too, is repeating himself.

"I'm grateful for what you did for Callum," I change the subject. "He came into his new condition suddenly."

"He told me about it," Marcos interrupts me before I can further go into my own involvement in Callum's situation, and I remain silent, grateful for this respite. "But it is I who must be grateful. Without his help – without your help – I would still be out and about slaughtering others of my kind."

I nod. "The impulse is familiar to us as well." With one difference: Those of us who give in to it never return from their descent into the realm of the Beast. Obviously, we are similar in our immortality, but by no means the same. "Will you stay longer? Will you teach him?"

He turns his head to one side in a Greek head nod. "Maybe."

"Depending on what?"

"Look, I am one of the oldest of my kind. It wouldn't be wise to… There are better teachers."

"It would appear to me that you would have more to teach Callum than someone younger. I assume that age equals wisdom with your kind as well."

At that, he laughs heartily. "You should know that I've been a hunter for the last couple of years."

I assume I'm meant to infer from that that a hunter is not a wise thing to be for an immortal. And, a hunter? Hunting what? I don't think he's part of that infernal Leopold Society of Kindred hunters (or he'd have parted me from my head as soon as he laid eyes on me), so what does he mean?

No matter. "I've seen you fight," I remind him. "That at least is something you could teach him." Besides, if what Callum said is true, then knowing how to fight might be the only thing that's really important.

Marcos smiles. "Yes, impressive, eh?" He stretches like a cat basking in the sun. "If he survives long enough for me to teach him."

"Why shouldn't he?"

"Because they hunt me now."

Of course. The hunter became the hunted. "I see."

"Which isn't bad," he adds with the air of someone whose glory increases with the number of his enemies. "But could be bad for the boy."

"He is under my protection," I pronounce.

He looks at me. "You know you're not allowed to interfere."

I return his look impassively.

"As if that would keep you," he realizes, grinning.

"It wouldn't."

"I wish you had been that courageous when you courted Memnos…" he once again starts his reminiscing.

"We are finished with this topic, Marcos." Gods, he's beginning to try my patience.

"We are now. There is a much better teacher in town, and Callum is supposed to go there. He knows that."

"I see." All my half-hatched schemes about giving Daniel into Marcos' custody are for naught should he not stay. "So, what are your plans?"

"I might go back to Greece, see my family…"

"Your family." I suppress a sigh. Of course, Marcos is still basically human. He can have a wife, a family. He can raise children, protect them, teach them his values and perpetuate himself in this way. At this moment, it is hard for me not to be envious.

"If my wife remembers me, that is." He gives a self-deprecating little laugh.

"Do you have children?" It is clearly none of my business, but maybe here is an opening for me to introduce the topic of Daniel. If Marcos has children, he may not be averse to having one more, one that is not his own.

"Yes, I do. I told Callum everything about them. Ask him."

Referring me to your underling, Agaros? You are still the high-and-mighty warrior you were. But I'm not the shy inventor any longer. "You are sitting right before me. I believe in going to the source."

He smiles, acknowledging the hit. "Some things never change."

I have no idea what he means. Back in Cnossos, I might have been called many things, but assertive was not one of them.

The best thing to do would probably be to introduce him to Daniel and let the child's intelligence and charm work its own magic. How could this hardened fighter resist Daniel if even I, someone who to all intents and purposes is hardly more than a monster, have succumbed to him?

"I miss them," Marcos' quiet voice interrupts my thoughts.

I decide to plunge ahead. "Forgive the question. Are they your own children?"

"Gods, no. We can't have children."

Another thing we have in common, then. "So they are adopted."

"Let us say, they have at least three different fathers. I chose my wife wisely."

"A rare skill in any man," I say dryly. Finding the right woman even for a conventional family nowadays seems to be a near impossibility for mortal men, if their rate of divorce is anything to go by. Fortunately, this is one problem the Embrace has rid me of.

"Usually I prefer one partner, who can also be father to my children," Marcos goes on.

So he's still entrenched in the old ways of the Greek and Spartans; having a male partner, and a wife. In this day and age, it must be hard to find man who accepts this; men have always been more, shall be say, rigid about the morality of sharing a wife. I can only imagine how Marcos may go about choosing his partners; ascertaining their willingness to go along with such an arrangement is hardly something one can bring up in casual conversation.

And it appears I stumbled upon yet another similarity between Marcos and me. I, too, know that there lies a deep satisfaction in finding a man for a woman, then to see her happy with him and to know who was instrumental in that happiness, even if the couple has no idea. I must have been an invisible matchmaker for hundreds of women by now. After all, if I can't have the woman I love (for obvious reasons), the least I can do is to make her happy indirectly. I expect that this will be the only way I can ever be a part of a family.

I drag myself back to the present. "Is eight children your limit?"

"You're not the first to ask me that question."

"Really." Could it be that my beautiful Callum had the same idea? "What did Callum tell you?"

"He told me nothing in particular. He just mentioned this boy…"

Oh Callum, beautiful, clever Callum. "Then I won't have to. What are your thoughts?"

"I will have to talk to him."

"Of course. I will have to talk to the child first." I would hate to finalize this arrangement without Daniel even knowing about it.

"What a shame," Marcos says softy, looking me over. "You're still quite pretty."

I wonder if he's deliberately trying to provoke me. "We both know that I am not," I say through clenched teeth. "So can we please drop it?" I spread my hands where he can see them, their monstrous talons, the deathly white skin that used to be dark with the sun.

He takes one of my hands in his. His other hand on my shoulder, pressing down firmly, draws me back from my beginning rage. "No, I won't," he says firmly. "Your kind might hold unknown terror for mortals, but I still remember you, Daidalos, from the days before you… disappeared."

"I'm not that man any longer…"

"Shush," he interrupts me, "don't speak. I remember not only your face, but also your gentle nature. You never noticed, but I did see you, then. I was intrigued. You were kind at heart, and you still are. I thought you left because of what I did. And now I meet you again." He swallows down some deep emotion, squeezing my hand once more before releasing it, and I realize that all his words have been genuine.

Why is it so hard to accept affection? We spend our nights seeking redemption, some sign that, despite the Embrace, we're still worthy of being loved. And here, presented with evidence that I am, to Marcos at least, more than a mere beast, I see insult and provocation where none was intended.

Maybe that's a sign that we're both correct. Someone who really is kind and gentle, as Marcos just called me, would be able to gracefully accept the sentiment. I smile sadly. "We have both changed since then. You have become a hunter, and I – a beast."

He shakes his head. "I had changed a long time before we met, dear Daidalos. A long time. About the hunter, well, I was just a bit angry. But Callum could mend that."

"Yes, he does have this effect." My beautiful, clever Callum.

"You should like what you are. It helps."

You have no idea what you're talking about, Agaros, whose name means "magnificent". "I have come to terms with it." I can't resist adding a slight barb. "It only becomes difficult if I am reminded of the time before."

"I see. I am sorry."

He sounds genuine. Immediately, I feel like a complete bastard for this cheap hit. "Think nothing of it," I murmur, ashamed.

"The boy."

I go along with the change of subject gratefully. "He was made an orphan by the death of his parents only a few months ago. He is used to traveling and he is very intelligent. He needs someone who can challenge him and guide him."

"I will talk to him. And then, we will see."

That is as much as I've hoped. "We will, indeed." I rise to leave.

"Let us share a goblet some time later," Marcos calls after me.

I hesitate before seeking the shadows. "With pleasure." I'm already hidden from sight by the time the smile reaches my face.

* * *

To be continued... 


	11. Confusions

**Chapter 11 - Confusions**

* * *

**Disclaimer:** We claim no ownership to the cute guy with the big nose. For rest of disclaimer see Chapter 1

**Warning:** Homoerotic content of the non-explicit kind ahead.

* * *

_**Callum**_

Coming back from my late night ramblings, I meet Daedalus in the hall. The fact that he remains invisible or, as he calls it, "obfuscated," while walking through my ward, doesn't cease to astound me. He once told me that he would have to apply certain "changes" to my colleagues in order to make them shut up – a fact that did indeed cause some concern on my side, hence although he assured me that no harm would be done, I talked him into leaving it as it is. So, he walks to and fro like a ghost, and all I can do is feel him. I assume that's all I need to know, and I should worry about other things.

Sometimes, I realize, I don't feel him at all. Cor, at least not until I feel his breath on, and his voice in, my ear, whispering, "Callum."

What a feeling, and just now having considered a life in unison… I can but try not to shout out loud, and channel the rest of it in a suppressed sigh.

He seems to be highly amused, and adds: "Your office?"

Now I am my calm self again (ridiculous thought, as it were), and try to play the secrecy game that seems so appropriate for a strange situation like this, and I look around with exaggerated care, tuning my tone of voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "Got the code, Marlow?"

While I wonder a moment or two whether Daedalus knows about those weird role playing games, he already comes up with the proper reply, and it sounds even better due to his never ceasing somber intonation: "Yes. One twenty-four bit, I believe."

I am delighted. It's so nice to have someone to lark around with. But I can't continue the game now, there are other things waiting for us to talk about; ludicrously important things. Therefore I turn, whispering to the air that I hope to be Daedalus, "I'd pat your bony backside, if I found it," and head for the office. This time I can feel him, for he is really close behind me. The door closes shortly after – presumably – both of us have entered, and without turning I remark: "Very impressive, my dear. You can pop outta the mists now."

On cue, he appears. How very impressive indeed. In order to show how cool I can be, too, I pretend not to be impressed. Instead I walk to the couch and sit down, patting the place by my side. Daedalus, never taking his eyes from me, follows my gesture, and sits down close to me, and like always he moves with a strange kind of weighty grace that utterly betrays his nimbleness. I wonder how he does it, he doesn't even blink once, and wherever he moves, his eyes remain fixed on me like those of a chameleon.

This really is weird, and here it comes, the silly laughter, all by itself, trying to fight its way to the surface. All I can do not to let it show is to snuggle up into Daedalus' arms, transforming the laugh into another deep sigh. Almost automatically, he puts his arms around me. I'm safe now. I'll stay here forever. But I have to tell him about the house, hence I talk into his sleeve. "Guess where I've been."

I might be mistaken, but it seems as if he's sniffing. And yet, I was right, because the next thing he says is, "You've been taking a long walk. You've been to the South-West."

"You're right. Amazing."

Snuffle, snuffle. "The scents are still quite fresh."

"Scents, uh, Mr. Holmes?" Now I play the indignant.

Without taking up on his cue this time, Daedalus makes a show of sniffing at my neck, and the hairs on the back of it stand on end immediately. "Scents."

I love it when he does that. Our conversation has taken another turn now, and the atmosphere is whizzing with lust. And here's the third sigh I can't keep from escaping. I start wondering if I'll turn into a hysterical Jessie if he goes on like that – or if it's just the normal madness of the day. But – the house is waiting. "Do you wanna hear the rest of the story – or shall we postpone it?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"The rest." His voice sounds more guttural than ever, I bet he can turn me into something small and begging, but at least I can keep it up now. Well, yes, everything. "Oh. Uh. Yes. Okay. Wow, man, you're a philanderer. I did indeed go for a long long walk. And then… drum-roll, please… I found a house." There, that wasn't so hard, Callum.

Daedalus seems to be in a similarly giddy mood, as he replies, "That's amazing, considering we are in a city."

"Yuh, and such a riot, too," I chide him, grinning. "No, Daedie, I found _the_ house."

I realize he has changed his attitude a bit during my last words, so I look up at him. His expression is somewhat incredulous. Now I remember. I called him 'Daedie.' "Sorry. May I call you that?"

He relaxes again. "You may call me whatever you like."

Ah. A through ball from the maestro. I gracefully give it a spin. "Really? Like, cutie pie? Or cuddly bear?"

He returns it as gracefully. "If you must."

"You're sweet." And before he can retort something this time, I shut him up by kissing him, and then breathing in his ear: "The house. I've found it. It's gonna be mine."

I can tell my Daedie is not only all ears now. "House." He resumes letting his lips work on my neck again, my… now… very sensitive neck… "Really. Your house."

"My house now." This is serious. Both – the house and the situation. And I know what has to come next. Following the first and in preparation for the latter, I move to sit on his lap. "Our house. Maybe..."

Daedie's expression couldn't be more perplexed now. I look at him as earnestly as the situation allows. "We're a couple of love birds, dauntcha think?"

"We are?"

"I think so. Yes. I definitely do. And… well, I thought… I mean, the house needs a lot of rebuilding and whatnot but… I thought you could move in with me…"

Now it dawns on him. "You… want me to… live with you?"

"Uhm, yes," I repeat, grinning. "Or unlive. Or whatever it is you do. You know, it's strange. Thinking about it. I never thought I'd find another one to share my life with, but then, you never know. And now I've met you, and I somewhat like you. No, delete that from the minutes. I love you." And while I say this, I know it's true, although it sounds oh so trite.

Dear Daedie doesn't have those concerns, and I almost admire him for his openness and his ability to show his feelings apparently without feeling ridiculous at all. And he is deeply stirred now, I can see that. Of course he has to reply something adequate. And so he does. "I also love you, Callum. With all my heart."

Apart from feeling silly and overly squashy, I can't keep those emotions down any longer, I just have to let them out. There they come again, the tears, the sobbing, all that shit. It doesn't really help that Daedie closes his arms around me. After a while, he softly asks: "What is it?"

I put my thoughts into words. "It's just... I was thinking of Johnny... He'd be so happy."

He must have something like a telepathic contact with me now, I can clearly feel him inside of my mind, and it comes like a great relief, because then I won't have to talk about it. And yet, he asks me: "Will you tell me about him?"

"Yuh, of course," I reply obediently, trying to calm down. "You know, I do have a past. Quite a lot of it, actually."

"I know. I know a lot about you." And it sounds as if he has researched the remotest part of my life.

I rub the tears from my mug, trying to face the truth. "Of course you do. I always forget. You and Julian and your lot…" They must have checked on me even before I got the job, thinking of it now. "But you can't know about Johnny. He died six years ago. He was the only one I'd ever wanted to live with."

"I understand."

"No, you don't. After Johnny, there was only... Shit. Whoring around." I know I'm on the road to self-pity now, with hints of depression lurking behind the signposts, but I just let it go. "If Julian thinks bad of me, it's only fair."

Daedie remains calm, as usual. "No, I don't think so. These things happen." Behind his kind words, there's yet something else, something he is thinking about, and I can but guess that it could have to do with Julian…

"I always forget how old and wise you are," I say, but that's only part of what I want to say and I can't get it out straight. I deeply admire his gracious and utterly patient way, I know I'll never be that good, never in my life, and I am grateful that he is with me. I could listen to his voice for ages, and longer. I just wish I could answer as wisely. I can't, though.

"Tell me about your Johnny."

Hesitantly, I tell him about Johnny; about the friends we shared, the wonderful community we were living in, those many years ago, back in London. I also tell him how they all started dying, and how I lost one by one until fifteen wonderful and formerly healthy guys were gone, how I wondered and felt guilty because due to a strange and bizarre vagary of fortune I stayed unaffected. I tell him about the time I spent at the hospital while Johnny was fading away from me, until my love was finally gone, too, and about the time afterwards, when I wished to die and instead finished my studies and left the country forever.

Most of it is drowned by more tears, and more, and can hardly manage to talk any more. When I am on the verge to a really serious fit, though, I suddenly hear Daedalus sing. It's not what you could call normal singing, though, not at all. This voice is going through and through me, like a soft shower, like the most wonderful thing I've ever heard in my life. And the tears dry up by themselves. It is as if all sorrow is taken from me, all wounds are healing in one wonderful go, and swimming in this purple cloud, we start kissing, somehow manage undressing, and then he is inside me, filling me from the outside and the inside, and we're rising, rising, never to go down again.

I heard people say that my "famous lap-dance" is something to look forward to. I never knew that this could take on a quite different colour, now that I come to again. Purple, for instance. And certainly only with one person on earth. At last, I say the words that come up first: "I'll never leave you. Never."

In reply, Daedie hugs me even harder, as if he wants to merge my body in his, as if he hasn't done it already. I feel so light now, and so unsettled at the same time. And I realize that I'm holding on like I could drown without him. I know I will drown without him. "Come spread the balm of silence on my tortured soul."

I need him. I love him.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

I don't know what it is about another's suffering that draws me so. Pain, in all its forms, is like a siren's song in my ears even as it cuts me like a knife, scorches me like sunlight. It makes me want to ease it with all that's in me, until risk or danger to myself becomes inconsequential.

But now, finally, I've touched the source of Callum's pain. His tears are drying on my skin, but his face is peaceful in sleep, and his mind is no longer troubled. I'm still holding him, touching every inch of his body I can reach, letting his body warm mine. My own soul feels light with the passing of his distress, as if, together with his, I'd erased my own pain.

Maybe that's all there is to it. Unable to ease the pain of my own existence, I try to ease the pain of the world, or at least that of those close to me.

It's ironic, then, that fate cast me in the role of Enforcer when all I apparently want to be is the world's ugliest Samaritan.

"You're still quite pretty," Marcos said to me. For the first time, I wonder if it can be true, if my own self-image could be so far removed from how others perceive me. Surely, Callum wouldn't spend so much time, let alone consider moving in and spending a considerable portion of his life with someone whose sight repulsed him.

Or maybe love, with its famous ability to cloud sight and mind, merely allows him to see something other than the monster in me. It's certainly more likely than me being "pretty".

I rest the side of my face against his head, feeling my lips stretch into a smile. "Let me be there for you," I whisper to him, even though he's asleep and can't hear me. "Let me watch over you."

Then I have to close my eyes against the sudden fear of losing this. Always, always the cursed fear following on the heels of every scrap of happiness. I know it's destructive. I know it spoils everything. I can't help it, can't stop it. Desperately, I inhale Callum's scent, trying to use it to calm myself even as my breath hisses through clenched teeth and my vision turns red with blood-tears.

He said he'd never leave me, I tell myself, but it's useless. I know that this will end. One night, maybe soon, the time with him will end, and he'll go and take his pain with him, leaving me behind alone with no one to watch over –

And I'm a pathetic fool. Rolling away from him, I wipe my eyes and lick the blood off the back of my hand, the taste grounding me instantly.

He's immortal, I remind myself. He invited me to share a home with him only a few hours ago. This is not the time for this kind of panic. It may be years, even decades, before he does leave me.

Actually, it is now time for me to leave, at least the hospital. Regretfully, I look down at my beautiful Callum. "I'll never leave you either," I say softy, "but now I must go."

There is a house I have to look at, and it's only an hour till dawn.

* * *

_**Callum**_

Waking up after a short night's rest, but the best rest I must have had in my whole life, I realize again before opening my eyes that my un-dead lover has left me. I smile to myself about the never changing scurrility of the situation: the vampire lover leaving before dawn… And I can't keep from softly stroking the sheet where he has been lying, reminding myself that it never was warm and thus can't be any more now.

I'm in love. Consequently, it is a wonderful day. I get up and through my morning routine with that silly grin on my face that I can't even wipe off when I'm shaving, and I detect myself humming "Mull of Kintyre." I wonder why, as Argyll isn't even close to my home, and yet this song seems so appropriate for the feeling of homeliness. Let us just leave it at that.

After a wonderful breakfast and an exciting pair of jeans (talking about the closeness not only to homeliness, but also to hysteria, often found in euphoria), I sit down in front of my desk (which, astoundingly enough, doesn't hold any new wonders) and switch on the monitor. I lazily flip through the different images showing the different little rooms, more out of sheer laziness than of routine, for most of the time I prefer to walk through the ward before breakfast is over. There they are again, everything is fine, everybody is still munching their breakfast. Everybody but Daniel. I feel my pulse doubling at once. Daniel isn't to be seen anywhere, as far as the camera angles can reach.

Forgetting about the rest of the rooms, I jump up and race to little Daniel's room. As I feared, it is empty. He has never left his room before! Trying to calm down, I now start my morning round in quite a hurry, reassuring each of the children that I'll be with them again, just wanted to say hello, yes I'll be back soon, while the only thing I can think about is "I must find Daniel."

A dreadful thought is creeping over me. Can it be that Daedalus has taken the boy with him? That our last night together has awakened something animal in him he couldn't suppress any longer, just as he once mentioned, and now he's running wild? Looking into Mandy's wide eyes, I remind myself that the Daedalus I am thinking about and up to some moments ago was in love with can't be the one I'm thinking about. I must have lost it for a instant. There is, of course, another possibility, and I couldn't decide if it's less disturbing. I force a smile and utter some soothing words until Mandy resumes her breakfast, then take a deep breath before walking to Marcos' quarters.

My heart makes another leap when I find the door unlocked. Before I enter, I try to keep it down and listen. I hear a soft murmuring from inside, definitely Daniel's voice, and exhale with relief. Pulling myself together, I knock at the door. Two voices answer in unison: a high and a deep one. "Come in."

Entering the room, my eyes meet a most stirring scene: Marcos and Daniel are both sitting on the floor, shoulder by shoulder, with a tray in front of them. On the tray is a careful arrangement of corn flakes, currants, and muffins. Daniel looks up at me, flushed with enthusiasm. "Look, Callum, we're re-enacting the battle of Issos." And before I can answer something, Marcos has raised his hand, keeping Daniel from getting involved in his game again. He says something to the boy in Greek, and although I don't know the language, I can easily understand that it is some kind of chiding. To my utter amazement, the boy obeys at once. "Sorry, Callum. Good morning."

"And good morning from me, my dear Callum," Marcos adds. "Please, do excuse the mess we've been making."

I return the greeting, gesturing to Marcos that I would like to talk to him in private. When Daniel picks up my intention, his expression changes to one of concern. That's the last thing I need, therefore I kneel down in front of the battleground and smile at the boy. "Don't worry. You can leave the tray as it is, and you can go on playing later. I just want to talk to Marcos for a couple of minutes, and you, my friend, should drink your cocoa before it's cold."

Daniel glances at Marcos, and the Greek nods, throwing his head slightly back. Only then Daniel mutters some words of agreement and reluctantly leaves the room. I watch him close the door, then turn back towards Marcos. "Quite an impressive performance, Marcos." I hope my words sound as free of irony as they are intended.

They obviously do, as Marcos replies, "Nothing to wonder about, Callum. I've had many children in my life, and Daniel isn't really difficult." He grins at me full of himself and (I notice, not without pride) very relaxed, adding: "What an extraordinary child."

"Yes, he is," I agree. "So, that would release me from my first question, doesn't it."

"And what is your second?"

I watch him for a moment, lying there in front of me, still playing around with a fallen raisin. For a moment, I can clearly see him in quite another dress, an ancient one, as it seems, surrounded by others who look a bit like him, leaning over a map… I blink, and the image is gone.

"The second? Oh. Yes. Of course. About the boy... Well, it would be a bit easy to talk about the months to come, wouldn't it?"

The warrior pops the currant into his mouth and sits up, stretching. "You mean if I would be willing to adopt him?" He suppresses a yawn, then adds: "Why, yes, I would be. That was your plot, yours and Daidalos', wasn't it?"

I grin sheepishly, lying: "We weren't plotting anything. But now that I look at the two of you, it sounds like a splendid idea."

He repays me with his most charming smile, warming my heart without warning. "White lie. Doesn't matter now. I presume you want to keep us for a little while before you let me take him back home?"

"Back home?" Now I am honestly confused. "Where?"

Laughing, he explains to me where he comes from. "Didn't Daidalos tell you about it?"

"He didn't mention this part of the information. Greece. Wow. Would that be the right place for Daniel?"

And now he opens his plot in front of me, telling me all about the plans he and Daniel have already made, for Daniel has been with him since shortly after dawn. They want to travel through most parts of Europe, then get back to where Marcos started his journey ten years ago, where he wants to try to make up with his wife again. And he promises to teach Daniel everything he knows. I can only guess that this is more than a boy can usually learn in a lifetime.

I am overwhelmed, it is so tempting to just say yes to everything Marcos explains to me, especially because it all sounds so well thought-out. And yet, I cannot allow this to happen, not right now, I am still in charge of both of them. I try to break it to him that I can't decide for now, but will have to watch over them for at least another month, realizing only then that that's exactly what Marcos said at the beginning of our talk.

Sometimes it's bloody hard to be surrounded by un-dead, telepaths, immortals, and all that folk that know so damn much more than my humble self. Even more depressing is the next fact that they, i.e. Marcos, even know about this fact, and keep looking at you with an expression of mild sympathy.

Our little discussion ends with me allowing Daniel to pay Marcos another visit later in the day, but not without my supervision. This doesn't seem to surprise either boy or warrior, hence I guess there won't be any explanations needed in the near future.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

Opening my eyes coincides with an abrupt return to full consciousness the way it has been for many centuries. The familiar sight, sound, scent, and feel of my haven surround me even as I become aware of the fact that it is late afternoon, one of my clan-mates is nearby, and a little off the coast, a deep-sea freighter is passing, the sub-sonic hum of its engines blending with the other sounds.

Sometimes, I long to once more experience the gradual awakening from real sleep mortals enjoy each morning, or the sense of mental disintegration upon falling asleep. There is something immensely comforting about the feeling of vulnerability associated with sleep, paradoxical though it sounds. It is something I sorely miss from my Warm days, and come to miss more and more as the centuries pass.

I stretch, straining muscles and tissues to move cold blood through undead veins in a travesty of human behavior. Stretching is not necessary for me, any more than breathing is, or yawning, but some part of my brain still enjoys this atavistic behavior. Unusually, today it awakens residual frissons of pleasure, sense-memories from last night, and I close my eyes, smiling foolishly.

The experience of sleep may be lost to me, but last night, with the help of my beloved Callum, I've gained another experience, a state of mind I'm not sure I ever knew.

It is a constant source of amazement to me that as Kindred, we're still able to experience the pleasure of sex. After all, it's not something that's necessary to our survival. We can't procreate in this way. Some of us, it's true, completely lose the drive and the ability to function in this manner. Others don't. Nor does it appear to be linked to bloodline or prior inclination as a mortal. Toreador, for the most part, sensual beings that they are, remain sexually able and active. For them, it's part of the Masquerade. The other Clans are less consistent.

As for my own Clan, it appears that it's mere lack of opportunity that prevents them from pursuing the pleasures of the flesh with mortals; they turn to each other instead. Until I met Callum, I kept away from the more racy parties my Clan enjoys from time to time. I've never felt drawn to my fellow Nosferatu, and I've never been desperate enough to set aside my preferences in favor of fleeting carnal satisfaction. Instead, I've loved mortals, unrequited and always from afar by necessity. The sating of the Hunger was the only pleasure I allowed myself, and even that must always be curtailed by the obligation to let the human live.

Until I met Callum.

My body certainly remembers how to feel sexual pleasure even after all this time, just as the part of my mind that remembers being alive still responds to that pleasure. Unnecessary and atavistic, yes. But oh so good.

It must be a combination of the drive to feed and the drive to procreate, I muse, comparing the sensation of holding someone close to drink from them, and holding them close to feel their body with mine as I did with Callum last night. I doubt I'll ever find the words to describe the immense satisfaction I derive from completely submerging myself in his body and letting all the different primitive impulses grow in urgency and build up until their qualities all combine to form one all-encompassing _need_ and I can't tell anymore if I want to drink or to come, or both.

Last night, I discovered that simply by opening my mouth and letting my teeth rest against the skin of Callum's neck while holding him, I could transform the ever-present Hunger into a different kind of hunger, which then oscillated back and forth all over, ever increasing until I could feel nothing but a kaleidoscope of need, and my eyes rolled back in my head, and I nearly blacked out with the intensity of it. I could feel my mind coming undone, similar to what I remember falling asleep to feel like, yet completely different in its nearly paralyzing pleasure, and with my last cognitive effort I rammed the talons of hands and feet into the bedding and my teeth into my own arm lest I injure Callum, and the taste of my blood was enough to bring me over.

Afterward, it took what seemed to me to be quite a long time for the numerous splinters of my consciousness to once more coalesce into something capable of higher brain functions – almost like waking up from real sleep. Vulnerable, for a time; abandoned to forces that overwhelmed my mind and to the mercy of my Callum, who, apparently, quite enjoys seeing me in that state.

It's fortunate that Kindred physiology allows me to just keep going.

With a feeling of lightness in my heart, I rise from my bed, and my glance meets my desk, now covered with sketches. As I approach, I give in to the smile waiting on my face.

Callum was right. It is a beautiful house. In spite of its sad condition, the core is sound. We'll have to repair the roof, put in new windows and doors, re-plaster the walls and completely redesign the garden. Also, the cellar will have to connect to the sewers for easy access – that alone is a major job requiring lots of digging and excavating. The raw construction of the sewer access will take several weeks, add to that another few nights for installing security measures. Interior decorating could then start in about two months' time.

I look down at my preliminary sketches, feeling positively buoyant with anticipation. I haven't been able to stretch my building and sculpting muscles in ages.

Also, I'll be building a house to share with my beloved Callum – as if I were a normal human man, living a normal human life.

I close my eyes and smile.

* * *

_**Callum**_

After another long day, I finally find the time to introduce myself to Chao-dai. Sean told me he does not have a telephone, a fact that is hard to believe in these modern times, but whether it might be true or not – I will have to go there to find out. I follow the driving instructions also provided by Sean, and leave San Francisco somewhere north. Then, after quite some time going, I at last come to the grounds that must contain the Chao-dai Miao-Yu Compound. I have been driving along a wall for a couple of minutes, and when I stop my car in front of an impressive gate, I realize that the garden, if you could call it that, must be a huge one.

The gate opens only a short moment after my arrival (I take it they have cameras installed), and because nobody has turned up yet, I drive inside. The drive is well-lit, but bordered by high shrubs, so that I can't make out whatever might lie behind them. I shiver, and I don't know if it's the night air or the strangeness of the situation that chills me. Then the drive opens to the building I had seen from afar, and it looks even more impressive close up. Sean had also called it Chao-dai's Manor House. To me, it looks more like a big monastery in a widespread area of which I can't fathom the outer limits while it's dark.

The impression of a monastery is confirmed when the front door opens and a monk-like person comes to stand in front of my car. The only thing that makes even this not so reassuring is the fact that the monk wears black. My brain catches up with my feelings once more, and in a flash I grow aware that this is a monastery where I am supposed to learn sword fighting, and this guy looks very much like he's just jumped out of some Ninja movie, and the way he moves shows that he has a special personal relationship with every single muscle in his body. At least, he's not bald. He is, in fact, kind of good looking, if but a bit sinister in the way he looks at me. And he doesn't look Asiatic at all, more like a tall Roman. What a nose. I feel like I'm in a movie. Maybe not Ninja Turtles, but Robin Hood?

Before I can go on musing about the situation I'm in and the movies I've seen, he addresses me thus: "I am Chao-dai. You are Callum McKay. Welcome." His voice seems to reverberate from the monastery walls; the fragile state I'm in right now, it is just a bit too rich for my taste. And it's not that he speaks with an accent, thinking about it; no, it's more like the voice itself being accented by something… darker. He stands there, smiling at me, and then, just for a glimpse, I can see it: apart from the quickening, which has a full spectrum and sounds a bit like reverberating laughter, there is something about this guy, some kind of raw aura, huge and sinister, calling for respect even in a brat like me. Instinctively, I duck slightly, and the image is gone.

"You're a bright boy, Callum McKay," Chao-dai says, but he does not smile any more. "That's a start. But know that brightness isn't everything."

I want to answer something smart, but he raises his hand imploringly, and all I can stutter is, "Good evening, Master Chao-dai."

It's obviously the right thing to say, for the smile is back, with those sarcastically turned down corners of his mouth, and he motions me in. I follow him into the house, down a long passage and into a big room, something like a common room, I suppose. It is sparsely furnished, just like you would expect in a monastery, with a long dark wooden table and four dozens of chairs. Chao-dai takes a seat and gestures me to sit by his side. I feel warm now, and although I can see no one else but us, it is as if quite a lot of people are close by, watching us; but not like the Nosferatu use to do, more in a family-style fashion. I am the new one, and everybody is curious to catch a glimpse of me. Feeling a bit hesitant, I remain standing.

Now I wonder whether Chao-dai really is one of us, because I've never had this head-ache-like sensation I learned about when I met Marcos. It was rather the impression of a quickening slowly creeping up into my consciousness without hurting, yet also without stopping. Chao-dai seems to read my thoughts and inclines his head, explaining: "I'm not one of your average immortals. The Gods alone know how I let myself be talked into this, but I'm your teacher from now on, and I'm quite qualified. I know that Sean has not told you everything, for he has sworn an oath, and so will you, in due course."

Not without quite some nervousness, I hastily agree that I will give whatever oath is required, and Chao-dai accepts this, laughing. "Oh yes, clever boy, you are just dying to know all about me, like you do with everybody. But knowing about what or who I am will not mean knowing about me, rest assured, and don't you dare think that your little mind will ever comprehend the complexity of our existence. Not until you have a few thousand years under your belt."

Again, I can only utter some polite words of agreement, and, man, the guy has a talent to stare people down. And he goes on with his sermon: "Now swear. Swear never to speak to anyone about what you'll learn from me. Swear allegiance to me, and swear before the gods you believe in. And know that breaking your oath will end your existence."

All I can say is, "I swear." Then I wait a while until my breathing evens out again before adding, "Excuse me, Master Chao-dai, but what exactly is the secret I will have to keep?"

"Ah, clever boy, isn't it what Sean told you more than once? That your curiosity will kill you one time? But, see this."

And out of a sudden, I am not alone any more. I am suddenly surrounded by others, all clad in black, sitting around the long table as if they've been sitting there all the time. I still don't know how they do it, but they seem to enjoy this greatly, and they laugh, and only then I also see that most of them are hardly older than adolescents. Chao-dai seems to read my thoughts again, but this time I am wise enough not to comment on what I see.

And then the headache comes. It is only for a moment, but it is even stronger than that which Marcos had caused, and I plump down in one of the few free chairs before my legs turn to pudding. "How on earth do you do that?" I dare ask, and before his gold-green eyes meet mine, I know that here's another question that will go unanswered.

Accompanied by some of monks (that's how he calls them), the master himself shows me around the premises, chatting lightly, and finally takes me to the front door again. When he faces me to say good-bye, I can't keep myself from bowing slightly, and he smiles at my effort. This gives me enough courage to finally ask him what he has in mind for me. He nods graciously and answers, "Clever boy, you have already learned a little bit about our ways, and up to now you've done quite well. Come round here again, and come as often as you can, and then, maybe, you will also learn how to hold a sword and how to use it. It will be hard work. It would be best for you to give up whatever little tasks you have and spend at least some weeks in staying and training with us."

I want to reply that this will be impossible, as things stand, with the ward and the house and Daedalus, not necessarily in that order, but I can't say any of this, because he has obviously already anticipated that, too, declaring: "Yes, yes, everything is always sooo important, isn't it. There is nothing more important than your life, Callum McKay! Remember that, because once you come to realize it the hard way, it will be too late. It is your fate, clever boy, to stay alive, and when it comes to a fight, no one, not even the mightiest in this city, will be able to assist you. Come back and learn! Think about it!"

With this, he turns on his heel and disappears inside the house, pulling the door closed behind him. I sit down in my car, dumbfounded. The things I've seen… The things I've heard… In contrast to Marcos, this guy obviously used the time he's been living to gather all the technical gadgets that can be found on earth, and to establish something quite close to a science fiction surrounding, betraying the eye, fading people in and out of one's vision. I am no human being any longer, and if I can trust my eyes, or at least my inner eye, we are not even close to being human once we've grown older, like Chao-dai, who is definitely old, if not one of the oldest... And he will be my teacher now.

I can't believe it. I will learn how to fight with a sword. I'll have to drive here at least every other night or morning, and I promised him and I promised myself that I will. Looking back to the house, it doesn't seem so uncanny any more, no, actually, it looks quite inviting. Maybe that's what Sean meant when he said, they are harmonizing in a very special way. There is something intrinsically good about them all, apart from their uncanny abilities; something that tells me not to fear them, and to trust in Chao-dai.

* * *

To be continued... 


	12. Battles

**Chapter 12 - Battles**

* * *

For disclaimer see Chapter 1

* * *

_**Callum**_

I can still hardly believe what I have got myself into. First, I get to know an utterly extraordinary friend who turns out to be a vampire, and who is, if truth be told, my lover now. Second, I learn that the whole world is full of some kind of immortals who don't like to be called vampires but are just that, after all. Next, I find that I have become an immortal myself, and that there are others like me, too, and I have to arrange my whole life around that fact. What is more, I must learn to fight with a sword because they will challenge me. I don't even have a sword! And finally, I find a master who is willing to teach me all I need to know (and desperately so) about sword fighting and martial arts in general, and this master turns out to be one of the oldest immortals on earth, who is living in a kind of monastery.

The world is colourful, indeed.

I don't want to fight. In fact, I have never considered myself a fighter in any regard, in spite of my clan history. As far as I know, many of my ancestors have been farmers, and surgeons, even veterinarians, but few of them had anything to do with the execution of the law, no more than being a magistrate, and the only battles we fought were the ones of the quill. And yet: Chao-dai says I have it in my blood. That is why he has accepted me as his pupil, like it or not.

In spite of the shameful detail that I have to learn to behave like some strange super-hero from a fantasy novel for the better part of my leisure time, I have a wonderful future in front of me: my house, my lover, the prospect of finally sharing my life again with someone who cares. It is touching to watch him work so busily over the charts, the re-construction of the house and gardens, it is absorbing him just like everything else about me, and I am so proud to have him and the others as my new family.

We have arranged to meet by the house around eleven, and it is time to go. The children are sound asleep, and I feel euphoric when I leave the hospital behind me to walk to the place where I will take up residence in only a couple of weeks.

I have only been walking for ten minutes or so, when I feel the wave of another immortal's presence and turn. There he stands, in the mouth of an alley. He looks like a well-clad British gentleman in his late fifties, but I've also learned that seeing isn't always believing, so I wait until he makes the first move, hoping it to be a nice one. He talks like a gentleman, too, but his words aren't reassuring at all. "May I introduce myself to you: James Elwood Thorpe, at your service. And may I be so audacious as to ask you about your name before I take your head?"

"I'm sorry," I retort, "but you may be mistaken. I am but a pup, no heads taken, and I'm still learning. Sean said that'll make me off limits." It's not what Sean said, but it's worth a try.

He slowly comes closer. "I am sorry to contradict you, my dear chap, but I don't know any Sean, nor have I heard of that rule." And with this, he pulls out a formidable broadsword from somewhere in the recesses of his coat.

My heart misses a beat or two. My mind is racing. I raise my hands in an act of desperate self-defence, pleading, "Dear sir, I implore you. I am unarmed!"

"That is a pity for you, whereas it will be a pleasure for me, then!" At that he raises his sword.

There is no one around, no one who would watch us. It wouldn't do any good to yell for help, either. I hear the blood rush in my ears, I stagger back until I stumble over some rubbish, I get to my feet unsteadily, and the first blow almost takes me down again. There is a sudden explosion of pain in my left shoulder, and when I put my hand on it, I can feel it's all blood and tissue. It's not my life that passes in front of my inner eye now, it seems to be the whole clan history, all the battles, all the stories, whirring through my brain like one very short and very fast documentary, dyeing everything red. And then it doesn't hurt any more, and I know my fate, I can't change it, but I'll surely fight although I might lose, so I close my eyes for one more precious moment in the past before I give in to some sort of battle cry and plunge forward.

It's strange. You would think that something like this is impossible, and poor poetry at that, and yet I can hear it: the old march of MacKay's, the drum roll, the battle cries. While the next blow hits my right leg, I can hear it clearly, and it is my own voice yelling: "Bratach Bhan Chlann Aoidh!", and then the son of fire goes down to die in a blaze of glory.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

The sound of my Callum's voice carries clear to the overgrown backyard of his new house, pulling me out of my contemplations of marble pillars and rose gardens. While hearing him talk to someone in the streets is nothing unusual – he's often approached by strangers for the most inane things and always has a kind word for everyone -, there's something in his tone that puts me on alert. And then I hear him shouting something I can't understand, but still I know instantly by the sound of his voice that he's in mortal danger.

A challenge! My Callum was challenged!

I've no idea how I come to arrive at that conclusion, but neither do I take time to question it. From the sounds of it, Callum's voice issued from a few hundred yards away. Gathering the shadows, I race towards it.

And then I see them, I smell the blood – Callum's blood. My vision turns orange with fury.

* * *

_**Callum**_

I can feel the blade pass through my body, for a moment I can almost sense the exploding intestines, though knowing that they couldn't explode exactly but nevertheless have just been hacked and slashed into a most fatal wound, and wondering if I would rise from the dead again, and also wondering why I don't feel any pain at all, I fall. And then I feel the pain. Through a curtain of red panic and ache and fear of final death, I see my opponent raise his sword for the final stroke.

And then I see him fall, too, apparently without any reason at all, he falls back from me, as if he was thrown over by something. It couldn't possibly be the weight of his own sword, but the ridiculous thought crosses my mind and makes me laugh like a madman, and in spite of the burning and indeed fatal pain in my body I crawl over to see what the hell is going on, and in the same unbelievably short instance I see him bleed all over, somehow, and his head come off his shoulders like some absurd cork being pulled out of an obscene bottle. I can hear the smacking sound of cords and muscles being ripped from their locations, and only then the image of the one doing all this appears in front of my eyes.

It is the demon of death, a monster from the deepest dungeons of imagination, all claws and fangs and red eyes. He is sitting on top of the severed body, growling like nothing I've ever heard before, but it is still him, my Daedalus! The moment I recognize him I grow still, it is as if I'm freezing; in fact, the whole world seems to stand still.

Then there is a low rumble that comes from somewhere above us, and at the same moment the corpse is bathed in a blue-green light, rising from the ground, and giving off sparks and jets of light that knock the Nosferatu right off his feet. I see him fall and turn and look at me in agony, and then all I feel is the quickening filling me with an unbearable amount of energy, it just won't end, it grows more and more, and I hear the voices, I see the ghosts haunting me, and I give off an unnatural primeval cry before everything turns black. And I fall again, this time into the depths of my private hell.

Coming back from the dead isn't comparable with simply coming to, it is more like inhaling the first breath after a birth from the darkness. And while I'm coming to, I know instinctively that I must've been dead. I can feel every vessel, every inch of my body painfully refilling with new, strange life energy, and I realize in an instant that this energy has come from my opponent, and also that he is definitely dead. Now I remember. Daedalus killed him, or to be more precise, he tore him to pieces, and then the quickening entered my body. And now I also realize that it is Daedalus who is holding me in his arms.

I look up at him. He looks dreadful, and his only reaction to my being back among the breathing is to pull me closer towards him. Half his face and his left arm have been severely burned, I presume by light of the quickening, but even while I'm watching he starts to heal again. His eyes have regained their original colour, but they are unfocused as if he's concentrating hard on something I can't tell. Then I see the lights of a passing car, and although we are close to the road, the driver looks right through us. Now I understand: Daedalus has made himself invisible, and in some magical way I'm also obfuscated, obviously because I'm in his arms.

Suddenly in panic, I fumble for my shirt – or where my shirt has been, but it is all but shreds now. In spite of my formerly mortal wounds, I can find no blood on my arms or belly, and with mixed feelings grow aware that my sweet Nosferatu must have licked me clean. I try to chalk it up under "loving experience" and carefully put my hand on his, as if to reassure me that this is indeed the one guy I trust and love. Only now he realizes that I am awake, and in the next moment has lifted me up and carried me down the next sewer entrance. A scraping sound reminds me of the sword that had gone through me two or three times and is now, as far as I can tell, somewhere in the vicinity. But of course! Daedalus must have removed the traces (including the severed corpse) while I was dead, and he has taken the piece of evidence with him.

He puts me down on some kind of platform, and I give a yell of surprise when it starts moving. Then I realize that this isn't a platform but some kind of mine car moving on rails along the sewers until we arrive in something like a hall, or a larger crossing lit by an incredibly gloomy torch attached to one of the walls. There he lifts me up again, obviously deaf to my words of resistance, only to put me down like some pet animal. Yeah, right. Talking about pets, I see that I am surrounded by rats. Daedalus has closed his eyes again, and it looks as if he is calling them. And in fact, the next moment he growls, grabs one of them with unnatural speed and bites off its head in order to suck it dry like a slush puppy. For the second time this evening I ask myself if this is the guy I have thought to know, the ultimate lover, the one I was going to spend my life with. I can't keep myself from suddenly being in two minds about the whole plan, the house, the quiet life together… while my formerly so civilized and soft-hearted lover gropes for another rat.

I just can't have it, I stride towards him and put my hand on his arm before he kills the poor thing. "Don't."

"But I must." His voice is still guttural, not my Daedie's voice but that of a predator. Yet he obeys, if but reluctantly, puts the rat down again and takes me in his arms, finally becoming part of his own self again.

Only then I can feel something else; this feeling is familiar, I had it once before, after my first death, and as soon as I recognize it, the aftermath of the quickening fills every part of my body, and especially one. Maybe it's not the best place and time, only I can but follow my desire and press closely towards him. "Daedie, I'm burning."

"I will take you away from here, but first I must feed."

He obviously doesn't have a clue. Therefore I get more explicit. "I'm burning like hell. Take me."

"Not now."

I wiggle even more and start kissing him, and the desire is so strong that not even the blood stains can keep me away. "Please."

"Callum, don't..."

But it is too late, I can feel it is turning him on, too, and it takes only one little step to make him follow me: to bite his ear. Which I do. The rats are forgotten, the rest of my clothes fly away, and then his hands and lips are all over me, I realize that he must have undressed somehow, at least partly, and I am being taken by an ancient beast, feeling quite primeval myself, and this time he doesn't stop to bite his own hand but he bites my arm instead, and while I am having the best, if dirtiest, sex in my life, I feel the same escaping from me once more, and die a blissful death.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

It takes the sensation of sucking on an empty vein to make me come back to myself, come back from that ecstatic plain where Hunger and need become one, and I finally realize that his blood has stopped flowing, and that Callum is dead.

Dead – because I killed him.

The thought is too horrible to contemplate, yet contemplate it I must. What have I done? Why didn't I stop? What made me ignore the signs I have so painstakingly trained myself to observe, the signs that the vessel is in trouble, and with him, I'm in trouble as well, in trouble of succumbing to the Beast.

The Beast. Always lurking in the shadows of my soul, waiting for a moment of weakness to gain another toehold on my humanity, and another, and another.

I have not killed a mortal to feed in hundreds of years.

Is this proof that Callum really isn't good for me? I give a hollow laugh. No, rather the opposite. I'm not good for him. I killed him. He simply isn't capable of influencing me into disregarding a code I have observed for so long. Surely it is the ultimate hypocrisy to blame him for my loss of control.

No, Callum is blameless. He may like to play with fire, but that only proves his innocence and trust in me. I should be capable of withstanding his wiles. So far, I have been withstanding him. So why now? What's happening to me? Only one answer to that – I'm losing the fight. I'm becoming the Beast.

"Scuse me," a voice interrupts my internal monologue. "Scuse me, I'm fine…" Callum. He has revived. However, that doesn't absolve me. I have killed. I have committed a heinous crime, and that only allows one consequence. "Hey, babe. It was great." He smiles at me. At his murderer.

"It is unforgivable," I say hollowly. "I deserve to be destroyed."

"What? No!"

"If you were not what you are, I would have killed you. Our law is quite clear." I'm a fool. A fool for deceiving myself, for believing that I'm more than an animal. What I have done proves that I'm not fit for human company. I will present myself to Julian – to the Prince of the city – to be put down like the beast that I am.

My one regret is that this will also destroy Callum's hopes and dreams. But surely he prefers that to being killed by the one whom he believed to be an equal, a partner. He should be free of me instead of watching me turn into something he can't recognize before his very eyes.

"Does your law also consider immortals who have just received their first quickening and are thus as horny as hell?" he asks, trying to make light of the matter.

Oh, sweet, innocent Callum, always trying to see the best in people. "That doesn't change the fact that I lost control."

"Yeah. That's true. And you were different, too, as far as I can remember… But, no, I don't mean that. I… I _made_ you lose control." His eyes are like blue fire. He believes what he says. He really thinks that it's his fault.

And yet, nothing he says will absolve me. "I am not a mere neonate," I grate. "I should be able to control myself better than that, regardless of what you did or didn't do."

But he's not convinced. "Maybe. I bit your ear. It's your first love... Aww, come on, forget it. And hand me your jacket. I'm stark naked, and it's freezing down here."

It's the least I can do, a last act of kindness. Ten lifetimes wouldn't suffice to pay the debt I owe him now. I pick up my clothes – useless trappings of civilization I don't deserve to wear, and hand them to him, bloodstained as they are. "It's unforgivable." The thought repeats in my mind over and over. "It's the first step. If I go further down that road, the Beast will win."

And Callum will lose. Whatever I do, he'll lose. Oh, if only he'd never met me.

* * *

_**Callum**_

Daedalus really looks dreadful. I mean, he doesn't look as dreadful as he did an hour or so ago, and looking dreadful has, as appears to me only now, never been a real challenge for him, but that isn't what meets my eye now. I realize how confused I am, thinking these thoughts. First, I almost met my final death, then I met what death looks like in the person of my lover, of all persons I know, and now I can't help pitying him. That's so unjust. Never pity a beast. But that's what he was. But it's not what he is right now. What is left of the beast, if there ever was one, looks so downcast and full of guilt that it deserves second thoughts.

Maybe it was just an important part of him that I had dutifully ignored all the weeks before. Maybe he deserves better. It is true: I made him do all that. If it hadn't been for me, this man would still be breathing. If it hadn't been for me, Daedalus wouldn't have followed his instincts. It is up to me then to make him feel better again. But first of all, we have to get out of here.

I pull myself together, take the suit he has been holding for more some time, standing there like a shadow of his former self, and put it on. "Let's go home." Instead of answering me, he turns his back at me and disappears into the shadows. For a moment, I am utterly confused. Less than a minute later, though, he re-appears wearing an old-fashioned hooded cloak that makes him look like a reprobate on his way to the gallows. It's probably how he's feeling right now, so I don't bother him with any questions.

In silence we walk all the way to the hospital through the sewers, Daedalus following me like a boy waiting for his homily sermon. I let the now familiar vibrations of Marcos' presence pass through me while heading for my quarters, only to realize that the presence I've felt doesn't come from his room. It comes from mine.

As soon as we entered the hospital, Daedalus has made himself invisible, as usual, but I can feel that he's still with me. He must have noticed that I hesitate to go straight back to my office, but then I realize that it wouldn't make any sense to check Marcos' room first. He is in there. I know.

When I open the door, I see that he's not alone, and at the same time understand the reason for his "release." Chao-dai is with him. They are sitting on my sofa, the two of them, patiently waiting for us to arrive.

As soon as I've closed the door behind us, Marcos crosses the room in order to welcome me; Chao-dai, however, simply rises from his chair with a squint. Feeling like a schoolboy myself now and tingling with presentiment of the sermon to come, I stand back and nod respectfully at both of them. They seem concerned, yet they don't really look as if they are going to hold that homely sermon, but to tell us something important, and by the looks of it, something they have already been talking about for some time.

I turn to the still invisible Daedalus and say, to the eyes of the others to thin air, "You can come out. They're both of my kind." Reluctantly, Daedalus follows my request.

"Neat trick," is the only thing Chao-dai says, apparently without any sign of surprise, when he sees Daedalus appear. "Wish I could do that." Then he collects himself. "Sit down. This is important."

Obediently, I sit down on an examination stool. Silently recalling the approximate age of my three companions, I come to the disillusioning conclusion that I am by far the youngest here and a children's examination stool is just right. Daedalus, however, remains standing, and says: "If you wish to discuss immortal affairs, I will leave you."

"No, you'll stay," Marcos retorts. "It concerns the both of you."

Suppressing a growl, Daedalus answers: "Very well," and sits down on the office chair.

Now it's Chao-dai again who takes his turn: "In fact, it concerns more than you and even the immortals. Not to sound overly dramatic, but it quite possibly concerns the fate of the planet."

At that, Marcos agrees, nodding gracefully, but smiling at me as if to say that I have nothing to fear. I am very glad for his presence, yet there is a bond between those two old immortals, a kind of companionship so deep that I can but trust Chao-dai as well.

Marcos turns to look at Daedalus. "You interfered."

"Yes," Daedalus answers, obviously without much zeal.

"Haven't we talked about interfering?" Marcos' tone of voice is remarkably quiet, as if he knows that most of what he's going to say will be futile, yet he has to say it anyway to follow convention.

And again, my Nosferatu merely says: "Yes."

Marcos leans back. "So. You don't really care."

It's Daedalus' turn to lean forward now, but just a bit. "He was attacked and he was unarmed. I will not stand by when such a thing happens. You can't expect me to."

Chao-dai almost interrupts him: "Sure he can, _Daidalos_."

In other circumstances I would have laughed out loud, but at the present I feel that there's nothing wrong about a mysterious old immortal calling a three thousand year old Nosferatu by his original name.

Yet, Marcos won't agree as easily: "Me… Chao-dai, please. This is not important now."

Only now I realize that Daedalus hasn't reacted to the use of his name the way he should react, but merely took it in like anything else Chao-dai might have said. The only thing he does is ask: "What is your function at these proceedings?" and I wonder if it's some kind of tactics which has eluded me before or if I'm missing out on something else and haven't yet found out about it.

I distract myself by setting to auto-pilot once more. "Oh, I'm sorry I haven't introduced you. Chao-dai, this is Daedalus, my friend. Daedie, meet Chao-dai, my teacher."

As expected, the both of them nod at each other in a non-friendly way. Then Daedalus says: "I am honoured," while looking as if he's about to throw his boot at Chao-dai. The old man, in turn, catches the imaginary boot, by replying: "Same here. And yet. Marcos is right. This is not important now. We have bigger fish to fry."

"So noted," Daedalus states without turning his glance away from Chao-dai.

The old man goes on: "So, while the fact remains that young Callum is a full-fledged immortal now that he has taken his first head, and that makes him game, we can talk about that some other time."

At that point, Marcos intervenes, if but a bit annoyed: "What Chao-dai means with this is that Callum will have to take up his training at once in order to stand a chance." He actually smiles at Daedalus. "You can't be around all the time."

Daedalus answers: "I know."

I look at him again and am not mistaken: There is something else on his mind, something that has nothing to do with the present discussion. I wonder if he's still worried about the things that happened in the sewer. But then, that will have to wait until later. I glance back at the others. "Look, I'm sorry. But fact is, he saved my life."

At this, Daedalus looks elsewhere, and it's obvious that he's more than a bit concerned. I scan his expression once more and am now convinced that he is thinking about his own near future, not mine. I hope the others don't catch me frowning.

If they do, they won't show it. Marcos replies: "I know he did. I won't tell. But you should listen to what Chao-dai says. And I bet nobody wants to have dozens of immortals streaming into this city in order to avenge an outsider's interference."

And Chao-dai adds: "Right now, something else must take precedence. Daniel."

Marcos nods gravely, putting his hand over Chao-dai's for an instance. Not surprisingly, Daedalus pricks up his ears, too, now, at the mentioning of Daniel's name. The old man smiles at Marcos, and goes on talking. "I don't usually believe in prophecies. In my opinion, they're about as reliable as a weather forecast. But in this case, too many things have happened for me to remain sceptical. Right. 'A great evil is about to return. It was banished thousands of years ago, but now the time has come for it to remember its origins. The gate needs to be reopened.' I've done some research, and there is one man on this planet who can do what the prophecy talks about. At the moment, he's still a boy." He looks at Marcos. "That boy is Daniel, unless I'm very much mistaken."

I look at the two of them, trying to replay what I've just been listening to. Then I must suppress the urge to laugh out loud. "A prophecy? You're talking about one fucking prophecy?"

Chao-dai slowly bends forward until his face is very close to mine, then locks his eyes with mine and says, "Yes."

Somehow, this makes me believe him instantly, and I can't but nod in agreement.

Daedalus, however, bluntly asks, "What evil? What gate?"

We all turn to look at him. Then Chao-dai answers calmly, "The prophecy doesn't say." I can see that he isn't telling the entire truth, but I imagine that it's either a tactical manoeuvre or at any rate only half of the story. What I can't tell is, if Daedalus feels it, too. At least, he remains silent.

"Be that as it may," Chao-dai continues. "Protecting and guiding Daniel Jackson is of the utmost priority. This honourable job goes to Callum and Marcos, while I will have the thankless task of keeping your head on your shoulders, Callum McKay."

At this, Daedalus gets up, saying, "I see. If that's the case, my presence here is no longer required."

I jump to my feet, too. "Daedie, wait!" And while I excuse us for a moment, taking in the agreeing nods from the other two, I walk Daedalus to the small examination room next to the office. "Don't you fade on me now," I warn him while closing the door behind us. "It's not only about me, it's also about Daniel. Hey, what's the matter?"

"You're both under their protection, and you trust them. That's all I need to know."

"Do I hear any signs of resignation here?"

"Resignation? Maybe. My life is forfeit."

So I was right. I don't suppress the sigh that has been waiting to come up for some time. "I see. Pray sit down."

Obediently Daedie sits down on the cot. Like I'm used to doing under quite different, yet strangely familiar circumstances, I take my side chair and pull it in front of him. "It has nothing to do with the immortals, or Daniel, right?"

"Callum, I have killed you." By the sound of it, Daedalus really is desperate. "By our laws, that means I must be destroyed. I will present myself to Julian and await my sentence."

At least, he has made his point now. At least I have something to work with. All I need to do is reassure him, so that he goes on. "Okay. I understand. And Julian will see your point, too, there's no doubt about it. I understand that there are laws everywhere and they have to be respected, of course. And you, of all… creatures… are the one who should abide by the law more than anyone else."

"I'm glad you understand," he answers, just like I expected. "Please believe me that I'm not happy about it, but you saw for yourself what I've become. There are reasons for our laws, and preventing us from becoming the Beast is one of them."

"Like the beast I saw."

"Yes."

"Dreadful, huh?" I dare go a bit more into the provocative corner.

But Daedalus won't buy this one. "And dangerous for you. And for all others."

"I see." I realize that I've already taken over the role of the therapist here, and bow to the development by folding my hands in front of me – something I only do when I'm being the doctor. Maybe my "client" wants me to look after his emotions first. I give it a try by recalling the past. "I'm thinking of our first meeting. You were so very much afraid to show yourself to me."

"What's your point?"

Oh, Daedalus! You're much too good to be fooled easily by a young and ambitious psychologist. But I have to clutch at every straw I can get, and eventually need to go on talking, whatever may come out of it. "Oh. Yes. My point is that I wasn't."

"You didn't know what you were facing. You do now." He sounds almost cynical.

"Yes, I do now," I repeat. "Please, would you still mind telling me what exactly I am facing? Or, maybe I should put it another way: I you were me, what would you feel?"

"I would feel apprehensive."

"Meaning what?"

Daedalus looks at me like a teacher and patiently explains the obvious: "You have now seen that my civilized behaviour is only a façade, and that you're only safe as long as my self-control permits it. You've also seen how easily that control is shattered. I'm a danger to you."

Although I sense that I'm heading nowhere, I won't give up. Maybe the good old questions will help me out. "Has this ever happened to you before?"

"Not for centuries."

"Then why now?"

"I've no idea. Probably because I've kept away from mortals for so long that I'm overwhelmed now. But that's no excuse."

"Of course not. Oh. I hope I'm not keeping you from your execution. Just some last questions, please." Was it me who said the last three sentences? Oh, Callum, where are you heading?

"There's no need to be sarcastic, Callum," is the answer I deserve. "No one regrets this more than I."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, if I were you," I retort honestly.

But Daedalus is stuck much too fast to be distracted by that. He just goes on: "I had great hopes, just like you. Those hopes are shattered now, for both of us. And it is my fault alone. I'll take responsibility, but I don't do it gladly."

"I believe you do." I can't do anything but support him now. "But, to make it easier for me, would you allow me to list the facts that have led to this point?" It's my last hope that he'll see the flaw in his thinking once he realizes the facts. My last straw.

"I can do it for you," Daedalus says. "One, I'm very old. The Beast eventually overtakes all of us, and the older we are, the greater the risk. Two, I've kept away from mortals and their turbulent emotions for fear of precisely this happening. Three, I never had sex since my death. Four, you are too much for me sometimes, and this was one of those times."

"Thank you," I rejoin. "Let me paraphrase. You're old. You've become a creature of the night some thousands of years ago. You've been confronted with the pleasures of the flesh only a blink ago, and I can do this to people like you, like, turn them into something savage. Yep. Right. Had it before."

"By the commandments of the Prince of this city, it is punishable by final death to drain a vessel. That alone makes my life forfeit."

Ah, he's coming up with the framework now. I can deal with that. If he tries to hold the law up in his favour, so can I. "But the vessel was miraculously filled again," I retort. "Oh, I see, that won't keep you now you're on your mission."

"The next mortal won't be so lucky."

Without being able to turn around, I realize that we're on the verge of a confrontation now. "I daresay, apart from the fact that I wasn't lucky but just happen to be immortal, that now you're warned." I bend towards him to hold his hands. "As my granny would put it: that's enough breast-beating, you old fool. You haven't thought one fucking bit about the consequences, and you don't even give it a try!"

"Your teacher has assumed responsibility for your welfare. And I've told you that these developments don't fill me with joy." Daedalus' voice isn't calm any more.

I can't keep my emotions down, either, and all I have to do is let go. "Don't you dare give me that foul lecture one more time," I interrupt him. "I tell you what you're doing: You're beating it! You're leaving me alone, bathing in the illusion that Chao-dai will look after me once you're gone. I tell you what: He won't! And he doesn't fuck me, bloody hell, and I – alas, here's another one in this room thinking of himself – will bloody miss you!"

I can't rattle on, because I am dumbfounded in a Nosferatu bear-hug that almost gives me hope. "I know," Daedie says, his voice thick with sorrow. "Believe me, I know. And I'm sorry. I wish there was another way. But I've proven to you that I'm dangerous."

Not again! I push him away and shout: "Stop it! You've made one mistake in three thousand years, and at once you try to slink away. But I haven't built up all this to let it be destroyed by one old self-pitying fool! And if you don't listen to me, maybe you'd rather have it that Julian talks to you about our future." Once said, it seems to me to be the only rational solution, after all. The thought of a light at the end of the tunnel calms me down a bit, and I add: "His, too."

"It's Julian's decision," Daedalus finally agrees with me. "Of course I'll talk to him. He may be lenient, but that's not something I have any influence over. He'll make the right decision, that's why he's the prince."

The more I think about it, the better the thought gets. Suddenly, I can't suppress a slight smile. Daedalus tries to read my thoughts, but it is him who is mistaken this time.

"And nothing you can say will sway his decision," he says. "He's Ventrue. He will know the truth."

The truth. I know how Julian will think about the truth, and the thought of him fills me with warm anticipation. "Good." Refreshed, I get up. "Leave it to the Ventrue. He will know that you killed no one."

This finally makes Daedalus smile, too, if but slightly. "We'll see."

"One last point," I venture. "Could it be that you've hated yourself from the very beginning?"

Daedie hesitates. "There may have been a time shortly after the Change that I hated what I've become, and I hated my Sire. I've always tried to… make the best of my unlife."

"You like what you are," I state.

"I have achieved many things that were previously not thought possible for one of my blood. I've experienced a freedom no mortal knows. You might say I've learned to see the bright side," he answers.

"So, you like what you are," I state again.

"If you insist, yes."

"Good." At least he is convinced of himself and not searching for an excuse to subtract himself from this planet. I wonder where that thought came from, and quickly change the topic. " We shouldn't keep the others waiting."

"By all means, let's not," Daedalus agrees. After all, he has forgotten about his plan to leave.

I lead the way. "Come."

The moment we enter the room, Chao-dai hastily removes his feet from my desk, holding on to his beer-bottle as if he's afraid of spilling some of the precious liquid, while Marcos hastens to lift his head from – it can't be otherwise – Chao-dai's lap. They look at us with the air of two guys who had a good time and could have used some more. Marcos straightens back his hair and says, as composedly as possible under these circumstances, "All resolved?" His eyes rest on Daedalus, and again I ask myself how well they know each other, especially when he adds, "Are you all right, my friend?"

Some of my hopes are scratched at when Daedalus replies: "As I was before."

Annoyed, I throw him a glance. "We're all tired. Let's hit the sack." And to Daedie I add: "I bet you don't wanna stay?"

"I might harm you again," he answers.

Now Chao-dai asks: "Harm him?"

Daedie merely throws him a glance as if to say that it's none of his concern. At the same time, Marcos turns towards me. "Harm you?"

Now it's my turn to throw Daedie a glance, but I have no problem telling Marcos and Chao-dai the truth, at least in a nutshell. "We fucked. There was some blood loss."

"I understand." Chao-dai smirks, Marcos is tactful enough not to grin, but they both look at each other in a very significant way.

Daedalus adds, under his breath: "Not that it's any of your concern, _Agaros_."

"Of course it's not," Marcos says. "But if you need my advice… Those things have happened to me, too."

"I doubt that," Daedalus states.

Chao-dai goes on grinning and drinking his beer. At this, I break out into hysterical laughter. I think I've lost my thread long ago, and I can but try to control myself again. Must be the time and the blood loss. I hear myself giggle like a madman.

Marcos doesn't seem stirred by that, and he goes on talking to Daedalus. "Rest assured, the quickening awakens the beast in all of us." He winks an eye at me, and feeling suddenly very ridiculous, I fall silent.

"I know, it's none of my business," the Greek continues, "I should go back to my cell, then." He turns to Chao-dai. "Wanna join me?"

Chao-dai stares back. "Sex in a hospital? Surrounded by children? No, thank you." He gets up. "Night everyone."

Marcos simply nods at this statement and follows him into the passage way.

"I, too, will take my leave," Daedalus says, but his voice is full of sadness. I fake a yawn in order to cover up my concern, and join in the general choir: "Yeah, I can hear my bed calling."

Daedie throws me one last look, as if to say that he is fatally sorry for all that happened, but before I can say or do anything else, he disappears.

I feel Marcos' hand on my shoulder and realize just now that he must have come back into my office without me noticing, and I'm still looking at the spot where Daedie vanished. With a friendly squeeze, the Greek asks: "You all right?"

"I manage."

Now Marcos goes back to his room, after promising that he won't leave the hospital unless I tell him to. After all, I can only believe he's being honest. What is more, I don't want to lose time to call Julian, so I have to take the risk and let him go without checking.

Once I'm on my own, I hurry for the phone. His voice rings out after ten impatient ringing tones, and it sounds almost familiar, but a bit husky.

"Julian?" I ask, just in case.

"Callum. What is it?"

"Listen, honey," I say, again not believing what I just said.

"Yes, darling," he answers.

Obviously, the Prince is having a good time. That makes me bold, and I go on: "There's a desperate Nosferatu on his way to you."

Julian switches gears so fast that I can almost hear them screech. "What happened?"

"His version will be that he killed me," I explain. "Now, Julian, are you talking to me or to my ghost?"

"What's your version?"

"He saved me from my final death. I had a first duel and no weapon. He couldn't keep out, you know him. Well, and then I had my first quickening."

Julian carefully states, "I assume it's not pleasant to have a quickening."

"Oh, I say, it's the most pleasant thing on earth, even better than…"

"I see," he interrupts me. "You're very lucky then."

I feel that he doesn't behave the way I know him, as if he's still distracted by something – or someone. Therefore I ask: "Are you alone?"

In return, I can hear some rustling and voices in the background, then Julian's voice: "I am now."

"I was lucky to have a… Nosferatu stallion near me."

I have Julian's full attention now. After a small gulping pause he says, not without a certain amusement in his voice, "I'm still not getting the 'desperate' Nosferatu part."

"I just wanted you to know all the important details," I answer. "I bit his ear."

"Ouch."

"So, I take it you're not familiar with Nosferatu ears?"

"Not particularly, no." His voice is trailing off a bit as if he's relishing the thought.

I explain, "Most erogenous. Now, imagine: an utterly aroused Callum, literally glowing from within, an angry Nosferatu, hungry, too, and in a state of, let us say, emotional instability, and me, biting his ear."

I can imagine him visualizing the whole situation, and I dearly hope he likes what he sees. Then he says: "I. See. And he killed you. Only you didn't stay dead."

"Not at all. That's what made it perfect. And now he's trudging to your place to receive final death."

It's Julian's turn to sigh. "Dear Daedalus. If all Kindred were like him we wouldn't need any laws."

"Please, help him," I urge. "He's real desperate. I couldn't talk him out of it."

Julian's voice is so reassuring that I would love to be with him now. "Don't worry, Callum. I'll make him do penance to ease his conscience but I won't take his unlife."

"I knew you were wise enough," I hear myself say. "But it's not only that. I think there's a little bit more to do to dissolve this complex wish of self-destruction."

"He has a wish of self-destruction? Are you sure?" Julian sounds like he's the therapist now. In a way, he is.

"Quite," I reply. "He can't confront the fact that this is what he is without fearing that it will happen again. To me, it looks very much like an escape bid, although he means well, no doubt about it. Oh, and besides, I love you for saving him."

Ignoring the last bit, he says, "I'll be honest with you, Callum. It's true that he has committed a crime. But it's also true that losing him would throw the city into chaos. But to mitigate, he has lost his control under the worst possible circumstances."

"Yes, I know, but part of that is due to me," I retort.

"I can see where he's coming from. But only the most strict of rulers would sentence him to final death. And I've been called a prince of peace."

There is a long and warm pause before I dare state: "You love him, just like I do. No, more than that."

After another pause, less warm but understood by, I presume, both of us, Julian states: "Now that this is resolved we will talk again later." And without any word of warning he puts down the receiver.

I have known Julian long enough to know that he can't deal with that amount of emotion in front of me, so I understand. Just to please me, I hold the receiver to my ear for another moment, enjoying its warmth, and say, "Yes, Julian," as if I'm saying the words into his very ear. Then, with a smile, I put it down lovingly.

* * *

To be continued... 


	13. Protection

**Chapter 13 - Protection**

* * *

For Disclaimer see Chapter 1 

**A/N:** It is high time we thanked our faithful readers for sticking with us for so long. There's lots more to come, guys – hopefully you'll all enjoy it. Thank you also to our reviewers, especially to Maraluch and Kirallie who've been keeping their reviews coming like clockwork. Your support is much appreciated.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

I enter my haven via the sewer entrance, still clad in the cloak I retrieved from the emergency cache. Leaving my own clothes with Callum was deliberate. I don't expect to ever wear them again.

My gaze travels through my haven, falling upon the unfinished paintings that now will remain so, the alchemical equipment that will, hopefully, fall in worthy hands. My affairs are far from in order; I have to hope that Julian will grant me a little time to remedy this, and to attend to Clan business. No, more than just a little time will be required, I realize. I'll have to recommend my successor – Frederick -; I'll have to pass on pertinent information, grant access to my computer files, and those are only the most immediate things necessary to make the transition go smoothly.

Suddenly, a wave of some raw emotion rolls over me; I close my eyes against its battering as I realize that I don't want to perish. Final Death is justly deserved, but still... I want to see the house finished, to see Callum happy, to spend more time with him...

Time. After centuries of unlife, just when I finally found happiness, my time has suddenly run out.

With a growl, I tear myself away, away from my haven and from my thoughts. My mind a careful blank, I pick my way through the mansion and into Julian's study.

He's sitting behind his desk, the way he did hundreds of times before when I came to see him to talk about Kindred business, or to share a glass of wine and his company. Another thing that will never happen again -

No. Don't think.

"Julian. I present myself to you for punishment." My voice sounds flat to my own ears, which is strange considering the turmoil in my heart.

He looks up. His eyes widen slightly, probably at my unusual attire, but he doesn't comment on it. "For what reason?" he asks, sounding less surprised than I expected.

"I killed a mortal."

Again, remarkably little reaction. "Did I know him?"

"Indeed, you did. You do. Callum McKay."

"Callum. I see." Is it because he always suspected something like this might happen? That I'd turn into something that can't be trusted? "Where is he now?" he asks as if inquiring about the weather.

I'd feel better if he showed his anger, his disappointment. He must be disappointed, surely. Why doesn't he at least shout at me? "In the hospital. He has revived. Nevertheless, I killed him."

"I presume he's well." He smiles as if at some private joke.

I stare at him. He's _smiling_. "Yes," I answer his question stiffly. He really thinks it's funny that I did my level best to kill the man I love.

"You killed him," he goes on. "Like I did…"

"It is hardly the same thing," I grate out. "I killed him while feeding on him. I didn't stop in time."

"This has never happened to you before."

Now, he's beginning to understand. I'm changing, Julian. I'm turning into the Beast. "Not for a very long time. With your permission I'll go to the Prison of Light immediately."

He looks at me with an expression I've seen so often before – he's reached a decision. "Yes, you will go there. But not at once." Leaving me wondering what he's up to, he rises and comes to me. "Daedalus, what on earth has gotten into you?"

I frown. For a dressing-down, that sounded very half-hearted. I've seen Julian and the tongue-lashings he's capable of. This was hardly a slap to the back of my hand. "I lost control. It is inexcusable."

"Right. As I recall, Callum can have that effect... So, you were overwhelmed by the Beast."

"Yes," I force out, still wondering where he's going with this. Surely, the matter is clear enough.

"Pity." He stares at me, but his expression still is not as stern as the occasion seems to demand.

Once more, I can only stare at him in silence.

"I understand the existence of the Beast in us as a challenge, not as something to flee from," Julian begins.

"I am not fleeing. I'm merely assuming responsibility."

"That you will. Now, this will be your punishment: You will spend three days and nights in the prison of light."

It actually takes me a second to process the fact that he's not sentencing me to Final Death. "Why are you being so lenient?"

He steps up to me. "There are two reasons for this. The city needs you. And I need you, too."

Speechless, I stare at him. True, we've always been honest about the things that pertain to us, about our relationship and the complicated tangle of debts, real or imagined, behind it. But I never would have expected Julian to go so far as to cite our friendship as a reason to spare me a fate I justly deserve.

I'm the enforcer of this city. I, more than anyone else, must abide by the Prince's laws. I'm the last Kindred who should be shown lenience, because I wield the Prince's sword. If I'm not checked, the law is in danger.

And yet, there is at least one authority higher than mine. If Julian deems me worthy of continued existence, who am I to gainsay him?

Trying not to look too closely at the motivations at work here, I accustom myself to the fact that I'm going to survive this night after all. And strangely, the first thought I have is that Callum, and Frederick, will be pleased.

"Thank you, Julian," I say gratefully. "I am in your debt."

He returns my regard with the steadfast manner I've come to know from him. "Not by a long shot." Then, reminding me that even though I'm not going to be facing the daylight, this is not yet over, he adds with a smile, "Off you go."

And, gathering the cloak around me, I incline my head to the man who now owns my existence, even though he doesn't realize it, and I head towards the Prison of Light.

It will certainly take a while for me to truly believe that I deserve this mercy.

* * *

_**Callum**_

"How is he?" Marcos asks casually while fiddling with the wine bottle. He behaves as if he is the host and I the guest, and for the moment, I enjoy being served. I am sitting on my sofa, watching him move through my office, holding the glasses and the bottle. He puts them on the table in front of me, sits down next to me and pours the wine into the glasses. I lean back and stretch and look around, realizing that it has indeed been a long time since I've been sitting here without any special task, a long time since I've had the chance to just be. Marcos might officially be my patient, but we both know that he isn't any more. I go as far as to regard him as my friend, and I feel honoured and welcome at the same time that he allows me to do so. Whatever our relationship might be, he can make people feel comfortable by just being there.

Meanwhile, Daniel sits at my desk, deeply involved in painting some complicated hieroglyph pattern. He had asked if he could join us the next time we met, and I didn't find any excuse not to comply with his request, for I can't keep any secrets from him, at least not the ones concerning his future. Now, hearing Marcos ask the question, he looks up.

How is he? I feel that I am being scrutinized by two utterly different pairs of eyes, and yet, they share one interest: The fate of our mutual friend, Daedalus. I have to disappoint them, though. "I don't know. The only thing Julian told me is, that he is being punished but won't die in the process."

At that, Marcos gives a slight nod. I take it he knows enough about the multifarious forms of punishment for immortals or un-dead or whatever and doesn't need any further comment. Daniel, though, won't be as easily fobbed off. "But you have to inquire, Callum. You must know how he's doing."

I feel guilty. Of course, the thought has crossed my mind. But unlike other instances, I am quite cowardly in this one, so I reply truthfully: "I'm just not sure if it's my concern when the Prince of the City has ordered someone to be punished, you know. Like, maybe he doesn't want to see me, maybe they won't even tell me where he is. All I know is, he won't be back before Friday. But I do hope he'll be back then."

Daniel doesn't lower his glance, and if he goes on like that he will see the opposite wall through me in a second or two. "You must."

"I know." I suppress yet another sigh, then feel Marcos' hand on my shoulder. Great Gods, it's good to feel this one warm hand. The slight squeeze is enough to stabilize me in my momentary depression upsurge, and I force a smile. "I'll try. Maybe I'll find something in his Haven. Or someone…"

This seems to comfort Daniel somewhat, and he turns to work on his painting again. Marcos answers my smile and lifts his glass. "Take your own time, boy. Nobody forces you to go there at once. Have a glass of wine, then go. _Gia sou_."

Calmed by his kind voice and gesture, I cheer back and drink my wine, but I can't relax much longer. Now that it's been said, I will have to go to Daedalus, find out what's happening to him, before I find peace.

On entering the gate-house, I can sense somebody's presence. Maybe my Daedalus is home, after all, and his punishment has been postponed or similar. I approach the steps that lead to the cellar, and, following the inexplicable urge to say something silly, shout: "Honey, are you home?"

Instead of an answer, I hear a drawer being shut. That can't be Daedalus. He would have answered immediately. Or would he? I shout again: "Anybody there?" And when I hear the rustle of soft soles, I add: "Is it you, Freddy?"

Finally, Frederick's head appears at the bottom of the steps, and his voice rasps: "Oh, hey Doc."

I bend over the railing. "Can I come down?"

"Dunno. Can you?"

"Funny." Taking this as a yes, I go down the stairs. "Where's the master of the house?"

Frederick looks at me as if I've asked about something secret, then mumbles: "He's… uhm…not here. Won't be for some time, either."

This worries me. "But he'll be back?" I think of what Julian told me.

"Sure. In three nights."

"So…" I smile with relief. "The number three always bears mystery…"

"Dunno. Does it?" Oh yes, one of those special looks Freddy can give me, this one especially dumb, as if he didn't grasp the meaning of my words. I am convinced, though, that he did, but if he still wants to play this game with me, I'll happily play along.

I smile at him. "I bet it does. It's his punishment, I suppose."

"Yep."

"And you are here to look after his things, huh?" I inquire sharply, trying to provoke him just a little bit.

"I am his second." And he starts fidgeting, just the way I hoped he would. "I'm supposed to… stand in."

Encouraged, I dare a bit more, grinning. "In any regard?"

"Sure. Only I'm not sure you'd like that. Or the boss…"

And again, Frederick is just too cool for me. I give up. "Just kidding. But, in fact, I do like you, Freddy."

"Cool," he rasps, and the look he gives me could almost be called warm. "Hey, wanna glass of wine?"

"Sure, thanks." Why not another one? I had planned on getting drunk tonight, anyway. "Can I see him?"

"Why not? Everybody else does."

I hadn't reckoned on something like that. So, he is somewhere where everybody can see him, probably some kind of pillory! The thought of it alone makes me feel sick, and I couldn't bear seeing him in this state. I gulp down the bile that tried to crawl up and manage to say: "Nearby, I presume."

"Yep." Frederick opens a wine bottle he has found somewhere and pours a glass for me, then takes a coke bottle from his rucksack.

I try to distract myself from the ghastly image of my Daedalus sitting or standing in some kind of stocks, being watched and yelled at by the others. I concentrate on Freddy and his coke. "I have to bear this in mind… To keep an amount of coke in the fridge once we've moved to the new house." Yes, the house. Our house.

Freddy looks from the coke to my glass. "Hey, you'd rather wanna coke? I can share, you know."

This makes me smile again. "No, thanks. I meant, for the guests. For you."

The little Nosferatu looks at me from his big black eyes, the meaning of my words slowly sinking in. "I'm a guest? Cool!"

"You will be, my dear." Of course he will be. And we will have a lot of guests. In our house. Of course.

While I feel tears rising, I watch a joyful Freddy taking a swig of coke, then sneezing heartily. "Gonna be the work force first, though."

It is as if he can read my mind. I turn away from him so that I can blink away my tears, and as my eyes clear somewhat again, I detect the drawings of the house and garden on Daedalus' desk. "I see. I didn't realize that his planning went that far already." The fact that he didn't throw them away leaves at least a small chance for us to proceed, after all.

"You should see the drawings for the sewer access," Freddy puts in. "That's complicated."

"From the house? Wow." It's all I can do to not get a hysterical fit right here and now.

Frederick seems to ignore this, though. "Well… We gotta get in and out somehow."

"You know, it sounds strange, but that makes me feel rather… well-guarded, indeed," I form my last thoughts into words, and the short inner hysteria turns into utter joy. He will protect me. And I will do the same for him. And everything will be fine. I realize that I have to sit down.

Freddy grins as if he knows exactly what is going on. I am so stirred at that the tears come up on cue. There, his grin fades, and he looks concerned. "Hey, what's the matter?"

"Nothing," I lie.

"He's gonna be out again before you know it." His rasping voice sounds comforting, but the content won't calm me down, though.

"Sure," I lie again. "It's just… a bit much, all that… I'm sorry, I can't tell you – before you ask."

Frederick looks at me and frowns, which makes his face look even more alien-like. "I only wanted to ask you if you want a hug."

"You're sweet."

"That a yes?"

"Aye." I take him in my arms, as if it's the most natural thing to do. Then I feel that the feelings are finally overwhelming me, and in spite of all that lovvie-huggie stuff I don't want to cry in front of him, though. "I've gotta go."

Frederick lets go at once. "Sure thing, Doc."

I would like to turn and say thank you, but I know my voice would carry the sadness that has taken control of me, and I don't want him to react to that. So, instead of saying good-bye I simply run up the stairs and hurry to my car. I could go to Julian. He would understand. What is more, he might be going through similar stages of emotion. But I can't talk to him now. It's as if the whole world has gone a-tumble, I can hardly see the street, my eyes burning, yet the tears won't come. And I simply go on and on, driving into the night, until I realize that I've not taken the way to the hospital, nor to the house, but I'm driving to Chao-dai's mansion once more.

Strange enough, the old man is waiting for me by the entrance. But I don't want to think about what he is going to say, I stop the car and drag my weary body out and stumble towards him. This time he doesn't make fun of me, but he puts his arm around me instead and guides me into the hall. All the others are there, too, and after all this, I think, funny, it's such a big hall, and yet it reminds me so much of my grandmother's place, the fireplace, the benches, the old wooden table. And I feel I'm home again, no need to restrain myself any more, and finally I let go.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

I stand motionless, staring into the eyes of a Brujah come to humiliate me.

The Prison of Light is a marvellous invention. Its walls are invisible, intangible, and yet a Kindred can't leave unless the strong sunlight generators in the ceiling are turned off. No bars, which means the prisoner is exposed to the sight of all who come to gloat. The resulting humiliation is as much – if not more – punishment than the imprisonment itself. It's common practice to not only gloat, but throw rotting produce at the prisoner until he, or she, and the entire cell are turned into a stinking garbage heap.

So far, nothing like that has happened, which is strange. The crime I've committed is indisputable, and I still hold that I deserve Final Death. Therefore, I'm meeting the stares of everyone who came here instead of withdrawing into the comfort and seclusion of meditation. This is supposed to be a punishment, however light, and I will not evade any scornful stares, words, or leguminous projectiles, if they come. Which, strangely, they haven't.

Even my current visitor is curiously silent. If anything, he's sporting an expression of inner turmoil, I might even go so far as to call it bad conscience. No derisions, no taunts, just a silent staring. After a moment, the Brujah turns to go without having uttered a single word, and I am left alone again.

Of course, my chief accuser has yet to make an appearance.

I don't doubt that Julian would let Callum come here, if my love chose to visit me here. The Masquerade is meaningless in his case, so there's no reason to keep knowledge of this place from Callum. And if I'm ever to face him again without shame, I need absolution from him. I killed him. He's the one who has to first comprehend the severity of my crime, and then to forgive me based on that. No matter that he may have provoked me, and no matter even that he may have wished to die a temporary death in this manner.

I need to explain. The fight of Man against Beast taking place in every Kindred's soul is something he has to understand if he wants to spend time with me and share my existence. He has to understand that, and why I need to be punished, and to be forgiven eventually. But he's the only one who can do that for me.

Julian's decree has been imprisonment for three days and nights. But I'll stay here until Callum has truly forgiven me.

* * *

_**Callum**_

After my little nervous breakdown, I am slowly recovering by the fireplace at Chao-dai's main hall, surrounded by a handful of little monks, who are watching me full of concern, caring for me with kind words and hot chocolate. They had caught me before I fell, guided me to the next armchair, comforted me through the fit until it was over. It must be long after midnight now, and I feel tired. But as long as we're here, I am not inclined to make any move to go elsewhere; I feel so protected, so very well cared for.

A soft deep voice wakes me up from my musings, and it is the master himself speaking to me. "So," Chao-dai says. "Maybe now you'll get it through that thick Scottish skull of yours that you can't avoid doing what needs to be done. Believe me, putting your head in the sand will only get you kicked in the ass. I'll expect you for our first training session. Tomorrow." And with a smirk that, strangely enough, pulls the corners of his mouth down instead of up, he adds, "At dawn."

"What do you mean?" I ask. "And why am I here? I don't understand. What do you have to do with me?"

Chao-dai smiles that enigmatic smile of his. "I've done nothing," he says. "Well, actually I did a whole slew of things, but none of them concern you. All joking aside, you are very important: to us, to Daniel Jackson, to the vampires. You have some rare abilities that make you special, and as much as I'd like to take the credit for them, you did it all by yourself."

Totally confused now, I stare at him, but before I can say anything he continues.

"Yes, Callum McKay, you are not mistaken. What you saw in the boy, what you saw in Marcos and me, is correct. This is what has to be done. Daniel is the one to be protected, the lynchpin round which everything resolves. But you are the one in charge, the centre, the eye of the hurricane, to go on waxing lyrical for a bit.

But before you start to preen about being special, there's a catch. Of course, there always is one. You are important, so you need to act the part. And just now, you didn't. You screwed up. You fucked up royally. And I think you know what I'm talking about. This, simply put, is how it is: the world needs Daniel Jackson, Daniel Jackson needs you, and you need Daedalus. So of course, what did you go and do? Endanger Daedalus. Dominoes. Click, click, click, click, boom. End of world. And all for a little fuck. You should be ashamed of yourself!"

I look at him, eyes wide open, trying to make sense of what he said. Slowly, the parts of this strange jigsaw fall in place, one by one, and after finishing the processing of circumstances, as much as I manage at this time of day, I grow aware of what a brat I am. My face suddenly feeling hot, I jump up from my chair, and I would probably have left the room, had Chao-dai not raised his hand to stop me.

"Before you run too fast and fall flat on your face, McKay, a word from the wise one: Don't run with scissors. Think twice before you act. Your previous method of conversation isn't wrong, but there's more to it now. I guess you now have an inkling of what's at stake here. Play your role well. Now go."

* * *

_**Callum**_

Driven by a guilty conscience, I hurry back to Julian's place. Like the times before, his butler sees me to the office, and lucky enough, I find Julian at his desk. He looks up with an astounded expression. "Callum. I didn't expect you to come."

"Neither did I," I answer dully. "But I had to come. I must see Daedalus, and if possible, at once."

Julian gets up from his chair, walks up to me and puts his hand on my shoulder. "Of course. I see. In that case I'll show you the way." He walks a few steps in front of me, then adds, talking over his shoulder, "Has Frederick told you about the prison of light?"

I catch up with him. "No, he hasn't. Is that where he has to stay for three nights?"

Julian nods. "It is on my premises. Just follow me."

We walk in unison without any further exchange until we come to what looks like garden pavilion at first glance. At second, though, it is a small fortress, with a secured door opening to a staircase that leads into a cellar. The second door, also secured by a complicated code, opens to a long corridor, at the end of which is a single cell. Julian remains standing by this door and gestures me to go on. Before I come closer, I recognize that this cell must be secured by something else than bars, and knowing who is inside, I hesitate approaching it.

Had the idea of a pillory been bad enough, the real image is like a kind of nightmare I'm stepping into. So, that's what the Prison of Light looks like: a bare cell, not even a bench or a stool, raw grey walls that talk of despair, a stench of rotten garbage in the air, and the front walls missing, so that there is no privacy. Instead of the walls, there have been installed light lines in the floor and ceiling that radiate a bluish light reminding me of tanning booths, and I realize, great gods, this is the light that can kill them. My Daedalus is standing there upright as ever, lit by this strange light, his chin high, his stare steady. I could be proud of him, if I saw him like this under different circumstances. Now, though, I only feel a pang of guilt.

He stares at me as if he doesn't know me, first, then suddenly he seems to recognize me, and his gaze softens.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

I must have slipped into a state of light meditation despite myself, and when I come to my full senses, Callum stands before me. For a moment, I can't speak. Relief and shame fill my heart in equal measure. So. This is the moment when I face my accuser, and, hopefully, my absolver. "Callum." My voice is steady and clear despite hours of non-use.

His manner, however, is not that of someone come to rake me over the coals. Instead, he appears shy and subdued. "Hey, hi," he says, sighing a little. "Nice little cell." Unlike mine, his voice is hoarse, and he stops to clear his throat.

Feeling the need to put him at ease, I fall back on the commonplace. "It is good to see you." Which is not only small talk, but patently true.

"Yuh, same here." His voice is still hoarse, and I can't help but notice that he's shaking a little.

"Are you all right?" I ask, concerned. Maybe he's still feeling some after-effect. Maybe he couldn't completely recover from my attempt to kill him after all.

"I'm fine."

I smile tightly. He doesn't have to tell me anything, of course. Maybe I've forfeited that right on top of everything else. With a sinking feeling, I realize that I may have destroyed more than I thought. He may have survived my attempt to kill him, but maybe his trust in me has not. He's seen my inner Beast now. This may be the end of us...

"I... I came here to see you, yunno," his soft voice interrupts my thoughts.

I look at him bleakly. "Yes." Go ahead, I add silently. Go ahead and tell me that it's over. It's no less than I deserve.

But his words, when they come, are not what I expected. "To tell you… that I… kinda miss you… If that makes any difference to you."

Despite the relief I feel, it's time now to bring it out in the open. He must be made to understand. "Callum. There is something I must explain to you. I don't know if I can find the words. Do you know why I am here?"

"Yuh, sure. I know. I fucked things up."

How can he think that? "I am here because of my crime," I say stiffly. "If it were your fault, you would be punished, not me."

He nods. "I know. You fucked things up, too. But it is my fault, at least partly, and I guess I'm a lucky guy that I don't fall under Julian's jurisdiction."

"You're a lucky guy because you could survive what I did to you. And because I did what I did to you, I am now in the prison of light. Do you understand?" It's vital that he does. As long as he blames himself, he can't truly absolve me. He'd need me to absolve him, too, and I'm not sure I'm entitled to do that.

"Yes, yes, I do," Callum says quickly. "Julian told me you'll stay here for three days and nights. But I've been talking to someone else, too…"

"Anyone I know?"

At that, he grows nervous. "Yuh, kinda."

I look at him, waiting.

"Chao-dai," he finally admits.

"I see." Thinking back to my own encounter with the mysterious immortal, I realize how remiss I've been in my duties. A name, a place of residence – that's all I have on Chao-dai. No information on how he earns his livelihood nor on the aliases he might have used before. And only speculation regarding his age. Shaking my head slightly at myself, I resolve to remedy that at the first opportunity. "And what did he tell you?"

"That I was right. That it was indeed my fault, too. Not entirely, but I have my share. It's because of him that I'm here."

"Then I am grateful to him." I abandon this line of reasoning and resolve to come clear. "We can discuss who's at fault for as long as we please, the fact remains that I have committed the greater crime. Callum, I ask your forgiveness."

Callum looks at me, and then he steps through the line of artificial sunlight into my cell, easily crossing a barrier that would harm me severely if I attempted the same thing. And then, my transcender puts his arms around me, giving me back my right to exist with a gesture and a few simple words. "Of course I forgive you."

He kisses me, and I can feel the lifting of a weight whose full impact I realize only now that it's gone. The tension drains out of me like water. I put my own arms around him and bury my face in his shoulder.

"If I could, I'd stay here with you," he says softly. "But I can't, because of the children. What is more, it would be a bit childish, I guess."

I can feel myself smiling. It's a good feeling. "It would also defeat the point of this imprisonment."

"But I had to give my word that I won't provoke you again. Never ever."

I close my eyes in relief. So, both of us will walk away from this experience a little wiser, and stronger for having lived through it. That's all one can possibly ask of oneself. "I would like to give you my word that I would never let myself…"

He doesn't let me finish. "No, don't. That's also childish. We both know that. I've seen what you are now. And I love that part of you, too. I just do."

I stare at him. Where does he take this strength from? It took me many decades to even begin to accept that the Beast was now a part of me, and I didn't have to fear for my own existence because of it. Callum not only doesn't fear me, he likes me and the Beast in me.

Maybe, one night I'll be able to do the same thing. It would bring me one step closer to final redemption, and maybe even to Golconda. Maybe, with Callum's help, I, too, can find that strength.

* * *

_**Callum**_

I had my first sword fighting lesson today, and there is not one muscle in my body I cannot feel now. After four hours of sleep, I drag myself out of bed, dress after a quick shower and go to look after Daniel. He was the one most worried about Daedalus yesterday, and he shall be the first to learn about the good news. After our conversation last night, my heart is singing with merriment and new hope that my future with Daedalus won't stay a dream. These things are meant to try us - and give the foundation of our friendship a new storey.

Well, now I am coming to see wonder-boy Daniel in a completely new light. Or will I? Upon entering his room, I see the same little boy in front of me, maybe just a bit more weighed down by the virtual burden others will make him carry. Feeling the tiredness of nights and nights without enough sleep deep in my bones, I had hoped to sit down by his side, but no, he runs into my arms before I can even close the door behind me.

"Have you seen Daedalus? How is he? When will he come back?"

I smile weakly at this gunfire of questions, and answer: "Soon, Daniel. Real soon."

"But is he okay?" Daniel looks at me with open concern.

A child's imagination can reach much further than reality ever achieves, and I can't afford having him fall back into anything close to a depression. Hence, I refrain from explaining the details, but instead I embrace him silently. "Yes, he is. Very much so."

"That's good," he says in his inimitable precocious yet non-arrogant way. "I was a little worried." Next thing, his big intelligent eyes scrutinize me over the rim of his glasses. "And how are you? You look pale."

I force another smile, thanking him in my thoughts for being such an astute observer. "I'm fine, Danny. I might be pale, but I can't be killed that easily." My own words remind me of what I am, and what is more, of what Chao-dai told me. I must be going great guns, no matter how I feel. The fate of the world may depend on it. The thought makes me grin. "Don't you worry, little man. Everything's gonna be all right." Danny frowns. I try to distract him. "What are you working on lately?"

Talking about his 'work' always brings him back in line. After a little thinking, he says: "Uhm… Chao-dai brought me a book on Sumerian cuneiform. I'm trying to learn it. But it's… quite difficult."

"Cuneiform. Sumerian. I see."

"Was spoken by the Sumerians, and the Assyrians used the same alphabet. When you can read this language, you can understand all the Semitic languages. That and ancient Egyptian, and you are set."

I close my eyes and sigh. Listening to Daniel's babbling again, I realize that what Chao-dai told me was probably right; or at least, close to the truth. This boy could be saving the world, merely by boring alien attackers to death. I also realize that I'm being highly unjust and that my musings are probably due to my lack of sleep, and I present an especially warm smile for this one. "That's… really fascinating, Daniel."

The boy scrutinizes me. "Yes I know I'm boring you again. But it really is fascinating. You know, the…"

And so on and so forth. I'm listening to him, feigning interest. But what interests me more is, if Daniel will ever be a child. Suddenly, I have an idea. I hold up my hands to stop Daniel from rattling on. "Hey, Daniel. Could you hold your thought for a moment?"

"Which one?"

"All of them."

He pouts. "Oh. Okay."

I jump up, clapping my hands together. "Come on, Danny, we're going for a walk."

He looks at me in surprise, but gets up from his chair, too. "Okay."

I hurry to fetch his and my jacket, then take him by the hand and lead him out of the hospital. I know a huge playground nearby, where they have a pirate ship and a cable slide. Some other children are playing there, too. When we approach the site, I see the look in Daniel's eyes and squat down in front of him. "Daniel, listen to me now. You do what I tell you, and everything's gonna be just fine. Okay?"

He smiles his precocious smile again. "Depends on what you tell me."

"Yes, that's true," I answer, laughing. "But you know something? I know you well enough to guess that you're feeling a bit self-conscious right now. Could that be the case?"

"I'm fine."

I have come to know this boy enough to be able to translate his language into mine, too. When he says he's fine, it always means trouble. And this is what I answer to, ignoring the original meaning of the words. "Right. That's why I thought of a bit of… coaching."

"I'm not very good at sports."

"Sure. But you're good at talking."

"Yes…?"

He looks at me suspiciously, and I am sure he won't be lured anywhere, once he's on the right track. That's why I come out with it. "Talking involves playing roles."

"That's right." Daniel's apprehensiveness turns into awe. "I never thought about it that way. You're really clever, Callum."

Smiling at his jovial way of putting it, I salute. "Thank you very much, sir. So. What I wish you to do is the following… You will play the role of an eight year old boy now. Behave dumb and silly. Be a rogue. Play with the other dimwits."

"That doesn't sound like much fun." Daniel's hopes go obviously down again.

I go on talking, trying to make a big mystery of my plans. "But it will be, Daniel, if you keep one thing in mind…"

"What's that?" Ah. His interest is awakened again. Genuine scientist, if you ask me.

"It's the magical key to all your future enterprises…" I can literally hear the drumroll.

"Yes?"

"The scientific approach," I exclaim. "Just imagine, you're learning from the basal objects. You will be able to collect data while applying them at the same time." I wiggle my eyebrows dramatically, at the same time feeling a slightly bad conscience for talking like this about other children. Anyway, what harm could ever be done to this boy, it was done a long time ago.

"You want me to research small children?"

"Uh, yes," I reply, and detecting the first signs of doubt in his little face, I add "… and to try to intermingle with them as inconspicuously as possible."

"But I am a small child."

Now I straighten up and play my last trump card. "Right. Have a go then, small child." When I see the look in his eyes, I can't suppress a grin.

Daniel shows that he knows he's been taken in, but he can't figure out exactly how I did it. Reluctantly, he goes to the other children, trying to imitate them first, then forgetting about his resolution and finally coming to be just the little boy he is. Watching them play, I feel an almost fatherly pride. But Daniel wouldn't be Daniel if he did not manage to make all the other children play by his rules, one after another, and they all end up playing archaeologists in the sandpit.

When I approach them at last, because it is high time to go back to the hospital and look after the other little patients, Daniel retorts without even looking up at me: "This is a very delicate part of the extraction process of the mummy right now. We can't go home now, it's impossible. Dr Smith, please explain this to him."

On cue, the plump little boy addressed as 'Dr Smith' says, "But mom said I can stay till noon, its only ten now."

I smile at them, then try to look really serious and retort solemnly, "Emergency call for Dr Jackson."

This makes Daniel look up. "Emergency? Urgent artefacts need translating." He looks at 'Dr Smith' and glumly states, "I'm sorry, Dr Smith, I have to go now."

On our way home, I grin and softly pat Daniel on the back. "Urgent breakfast needs to be eaten, young man."

He stops in his tracks and looks up in surprise. "I gave up the mummy for eating? That won't work a second time."

"Right, I know," I answer. "But it worked nicely for the others, and I helped you save face. What is more, if it takes you longer than an hour next time, I'll just come there, play your father and carry you away." In spite of the fact that I would really do that, I wink as if I just made a joke.

Daniel, though, seems to take it seriously. "An hour and a half."

"You've been living in the Near East for too long, Daniel," I reply, urging him to go on.

"I know." He speaks with a foreign accent now. "An hour and a half. I have ten small children and a sick wife."

"Yeah, sure. And I'm the ghost from the bottle. That's what you call authority." Under different circumstances, I would have thought it funny to go on playing, but I have spent enough time with him, and even if it hurts me, I must make it clear that I am still in charge. Daniel mutters something under his breath, but although the words are – as far as I can tell – Egyptian, I gather their meaning easily and retort: "And don't start that anti-patronizing mutter, Daniel Jackson."

He pouts, looking up at me while hopping alongside. "An hour and a half."

At that, I only laugh and kindly slap the back of his head.

"That a yes?"

"Shut up, Daniel."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Okay, but can I have _baklava_ for breakfast?"

"No bargaining, little man. Next date for bargaining will be tomorrow, same time."

"Cheerios?"

He makes me laugh again, and I'm feeling really good right now. The rattle goes on until 'Dr Jackson' is shut up by a huge portion of corn flakes, while I hurry to tend to the other little souls.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

It's the first night of my new life following my stay in the Prison of Light, so I've resolved to spend most of it at the place where this new life will take place – Callum's house.

Even though I've been here several times before, I'm again struck with how beautiful the house is, and I can quite understand Callum's infatuation with it. To be honest, I'm a little in love with it myself. But somehow, I've never before looked at it as a place where I'll be spending most of my nights and even my days. Never before have I considered making my haven in a normal mortal house, above ground. Caves, underground caverns, crypts, tunnels, sewers, even an underwater cave at one time have been what I called home. The basement of Julian's gatehouse is actually the closest I ever came to this, but that's still a basement, and my resting place is still underground.

Where will I rest? In the basement? Or on the first floor? Maybe even in the same room my Callum will sleep in, barricaded against the daylight? In a secret chamber somewhere?

It will be fun to decide on all that. Which room is going to be the living room? Where will Callum put his books, or I mine? I'd like to claim a part of the basement for storing my more horrific paintings, and for my alchemical experiments. Callum can have the attic all to himself if he wants to. There's so many rooms in this house that we'll be hard put to come up with uses for each of them.

I can't wait.

The lady who lived here last hasn't quite left yet, or, more accurately, her imprint has not yet faded. I can still scent her in the air, and I know that if I touched that lone picture over there on the wall, I'd see the last moment she touched it. A picture on the wall? Slowly, I walk over to it. It's a print of a building in Europe, probably a vacation memento, and someone must have forgotten it.

Steeling myself, I reach out and unhook it, doing my best to ignore the images that assail me. It's not my place. The knowledge doesn't belong to me. Holding the picture in my hands, I walk to a large cardboard box Callum must have brought here to collect the forgotten bric-a-brac, and I gently lay the picture inside.

"We'll take good care of your house," I say slowly, addressing her memory as much as the still very real traces of her I can sense. With a slight inclination of my head, I close the box.

But now it's time to become the architect. Armed with pencil and notebook, I slowly pick my way through the empty corridors and rooms once more, this time noting structural damage and estimating the amount of building materials I'll need. Most of that will of course go into the construction of the sewer access. The access tunnel will be more than a hundred yards in length, and I have a feeling that Frederick won't like me very much when I tell him that.

Oh well. He likes Callum. He'll grumble, but he'll do it. If he's clever, and I know that he is, he'll rope his brood-brother Skip into helping him, and then Gary will turn up too just to keep an eye on his childer. Between them, they'll be finished with the tunnel before I've managed to re-plant the garden.

Speaking of the garden... I step outside to take another look around. The last time I was here, I was rudely interrupted by the sound of Callum fighting for his life. Tonight, it's peaceful. The Gods have decided to grace me with clear skies and a waxing gibbous moon as I slowly walk through the overgrown yard. Closing my eyes, I enjoy the pale light on my face for a moment, grateful to be able to experience it once more, in spite of the crime I committed. In time, I may even come to remember what happened between Callum and me without feeling guilt. Say, a few centuries from now.

Weeds and small trees have taken over since the last time the garden was tended, but I can still discern the original design. A few cultivated plants and even some herbs have held out against the assault of untamed nature, their sweet scents soothing and beckoning. Removing my jacket and laying it over the branches of an evergreen, I roll up the sleeves of my shirt and kneel down in order to free a lavender from its encroaching neighbors, the moonlight warm on my back and casting everything in sharp relief.

While I free the plant, I look up now and then to stare at the garden, trying to see past its present state and imagining what it will look like when I'm finished with its design. I'll leave a few of the young trees, and the walkway will have to veer off to one side in order to lead past the ornamental pond I can practically see over there. Oh yes, and lots of roses over here, surrounding a sundial. Does Callum like sundials? I'll refrain from planting a labyrinth, even though I like the irony and the area is almost large enough to hold one, provided it's circular and small. But maybe a statue of a minotaur over there, with its hands holding a pot with a bonsai redwood in it, two symbols of contained power combined...

I haven't sculpted in so long that this idea instantly makes me want to return to my haven to begin. I even rise to my feet, brushing off the dirt on my hands and my pants, but then I stop myself, smiling a little. Surely the sculpting of figurines can wait until I've finished planting.

But while I'm up, I might as well have a look at this small rise next to that crop of opportunistic conifers. It looks artificial to me, and as I reach the top, I can see that it probably was indeed heaped up here in order to afford a better view over the Golden Gate. I'll clear it, and elevate it a little more, and then we'll have a bench and a small cast-iron table on top so we can drink wine and watch the ships as they move in and out. Maybe a Baobab tree to cast some shade if I can find one.

Several hours later, the sky is beginning to lighten, and my notebook is full of sketches and lists and my head full of dozens of more ideas that I'll put on paper when I return to my haven. A few dozen bushes and one or two young trees have been uprooted; my clothes are dirty and my talons have actually lost a bit of edge from being used as gardening utensils, and I haven't felt this happy in a long time.

* * *

To be continued... 


	14. Second Movement

**Chapter 14 - Second Movement**

**_Authors' Note:_** We apologize for the long wait in-between updates. It's all Elena's fault, who has become sidetracked, and who promises it won't happen again.

Thanks to all our faithful readers and reviewers for staying with us for so long.

* * *

_**Callum**_

I am sitting at my desk, still holding the receiver in my hand, still watching the phone in disbelief. I just received a phone call that made a big lump of ice form in the region of my stomach. I can hear the blood rush in my head, and I don't know what to think. In fact, I cannot think at all, or at least not hold on to my thoughts, just like everything else they presently have a tendency to slip away.

Maybe it's the voice that worries me most. It is this smug, jovial voice of a person who is used to talking to people, and used to talking people into telling him things, and above all, used to using that talk against you with a warm smile. He is a reporter all right. I really believe he is. But, what is more, he is a blackmailer. And he's just blackmailed me.

It did come as a shock. I had almost forgotten about that part of my past, and now it all comes back to me, all fresh as new. And, Jeez, he knows so much of it: about the boy, about the parents, about the report and all that. Of course, he doesn't know all of it, and he obviously wasn't interested in my point of view, the fact that I got involved with a fifteen year-old when I was nineteen is quite sufficient, thank you very much. The sum he demands for is silence is ridiculously high. I've already signed the contract for the house. I don't know what to do.

But I will have to pay, because if this story appears in one of the newspapers, my career in the States is over. Pedophile working as pediatrician, what a hilarious header! The fact that I didn't know about the boy's age (believing he was well over 21, which he looked; things like this do exist), and that the whole case was settled without the court having to intervene, is of no importance at all. The fact stands for itself. The more I think about it, the worse does it get.

If I tell Daedie about it, he will make sure that this reporter won't live another night, let alone live to post his article. I know he's killed people before, and he knows my opinion on this topic. What is more, I wouldn't want to be involved in murder, nor would I want Daedie to kill for me. The thought alone is absurd. Especially now that Daedalus has just left the prison of light, the mere thought of getting him involved in anything like this makes me feel sick.

I need to get the money, and pay I will. Maybe I'll convince my beloved Nosferatu afterwards that it's all for the best. Maybe he'll promise to leave the man unharmed, although in private I wish this guy would get paid for his atrocious plotting in quite a different currency… That thought now is absurd, too, but it gives me some sort of primal satisfaction.

How shall I live through this? How shall I manage my daily routine, now that the old wounds have started festering again? Why does the past never cease to catch up with me?

I wish I could die.

I will drag myself through the day instead, hoping for Daedie to turn up soon.

Three days have passed now, and the money has been transferred as arranged. The crook never shows up in person, of course, and although I would be too happy to face him and give him some word about his behaviour, it is nevertheless good that he stays away from the hospital. The chance to stumble across Daedie would be much too high, and we can't risk that. Not that the guy knows what he's missing, of course.

It was all the money I could shell out, now that the house is bought and the second rate for it will soon have to be paid. I am working in a kind of trance during daytime, and spending the better part of the night with my beloved Nosferatu, yet I believe he doesn't suspect anything. And I can but hope that my compliance didn't make things worse. I couldn't afford another sum that high. Tonight, Daedie will be late, and l have to catch up with my paperwork. While I'm busily shuffling through the files, the phone rings, and I just know it is that reporter again.

It's him. He wants more.

Now, I am at a complete loss. There's only one chance: In spite of my former reluctance, I'll have to ask Daedie for some money. I am sure he won't hesitate to lend me as much as I need, but I still don't know where to start. What is more, I must not tell him in any way what the money is for. I feel like the little boy who broke the cookie jar.

We are sitting on my sofa, snuggling against each other, without a word. I don't feel like sex today, and Daedalus is obviously happy with whatever intimacy he can get. He just can't take his hands off me, or his lips, right at the moment, and inhaling my scent must be like a drug for him, the way he's snuffling his way up and down my neck. Slowly, I feel inclined to change the topic, or, more precisely, to drop the topic I wanted to talk about and to go on with our non-verbal communication that usually leads to a greater exchange of caresses and body liquids. But I must force myself to talk about my problem. He'll find out eventually, so why not tell him now. Reluctantly, I put my hands on his face and make him look at me. "Wait... I must ask you a favour."

Daedie throws me a glance, then goes on working his way up my collarbone, answering with his lips to my skin, "Of course."

I still don't know how to start, and hi administrations are highly distracting. It's like jumping from a fluffy hot tub into cold water. Just to jump. "Uhm… You don't happen to have a certain surplus this month?" I name the sum.

"Is Julian not paying you enough?" I hear Daedie's muffled voice.

"Julian? Wha…" For a moment, I am on quite the wrong track. Julian, paying me for… the blood doll business…? But that isn't what Daedie intended to say, is it. "Oh. Well, yes, certainly." I can feel that I'm blushing. "I… I… can't tell…" I grin wildly, making a complete fool of myself, and I'm glad he can't see my face.

Daedie won't miss a beat. "Of course I can give you the money."

"Great." I give a sigh of relief. "I'll repay you as soon as possible."

Now, Daedie looks up at me and smiles. "You know that the best tactics to beat a blackmailer is to blackmail them."

For a moment, words fail me. Then it slowly dawns on me that he has known it all the time, and was just patiently waiting for me to tell him, but if this is the case, of course, the man must be in great danger. The thoughts storm through my mind, racing with each other.

Daedalus patiently turns to his former activity again and adds, talking into my skin: "Nevertheless, I will lend you the money."

"You're the wisest, best, and most beautiful being I've ever met," I exclaim, overly dramatically due to relief, hugging him close, almost choking him (if that sort of thing was possible), and gladly prepare to let the topic fall in favour of nicer things.

Daedi submits to my intimacies, nevertheless continues, "I doubt that. Now will you tell me the rest of the story?"

I feel my heart fall. Had I thought a moment ago that he is in the know and everything will be fine, I am obviously mistaken. But then again, if he doesn't know it all, there's still the big chance that this nasty reporter of mine won't survive another night if I tell him now. I brace myself and say as solemnly as possible in my momentary position: "Promise me something."

"Anything." Daedie has turned his interest towards my hands now, and fusses over kissing my palm. Strange, but quite stimulating. And quite distracting.

"Oh. Good. Listen... Please promise me not to kill him."

He halts for a second. "Why should I want to kill him?"

"Why?" As I had been convinced this is the only way they deal with matters like that, I am at a loss again. "Oh, but I thought…"

He helps me out, reading my thoughts, "You thought that because I am Kindred this is the only means at my disposal to resolve a conflict?"

"Why, yes," I blurt out. Then I calm down, growing aware of my own narrow-mindedness. "Sorry. So, you won't kill him."

"No."

"And how long have you known?"

"Since about fifteen minutes ago." He smiles at me smugly.

"I don't understand…" As usual, I allow myself to think aloud. "Oh. I see. You've been rambling through my mind again."

His smile broadens. "You've been shouting it rather loudly, I couldn't ignore it."

"I bet I did," I agree, full of relief. "You're right. And above all, beautiful." I have to add this, because it simply is true. He is beautiful to me, and he's always been.

Of course, his opinion on the matter differs greatly. "Callum."

I explain, "You remind me of Ganesha, the Indian god. Do you know him? He has an elephant head, greyish skin, and big ears. And he is beautiful. He is the god of the tradesmen, wanderers, and artists." I go on a bit babbling about this newly found imago of his, until I realize that he has ceased caressing me, and simply gapes at me.

Like most of the times when my big Nosferatu friend is deeply stirred, he remains silent, staring into nothingness. I know I won't convince him of my words, and yet he knows that I believe in what I say. I share the silence for a moment, and then clear my throat, coming to a decision – and changing the topic. "That guy… He's a reporter."

Again, Daedie surprisingly fast recovers from his reverie. "Really. Which paper?"

"The San Francisco Times. But I don't know his name. At least, I don't think the name he gave me is his real name… Daedie, look, he knows things about my past… Things I didn't tell even you."

"Your secrets are your own, and they should remain so," he answers stiffly. "This man is behaving dishonourably if he doesn't respect that."

"Yeah, honour, great thing. Maybe I don't deserve better."

Before he can retort anything, I engulf him in a bear hug and finally tell him all about it. Daedalus listens intently, it is clear that he had no clue up to now, and when I've finished my little story, his expression is quite stern. "Leave this man to me, and don't pay."

Fighting back the panic that's about to rise again, I ask: "You won't harm him in any way?"

"Not physically."

Insufficient. And sufficient for another wave of panic. "Daedie, please."

His stern expression turns into a mild one. "I know the man who owns the paper he is working for."

I was a bit slow to catch on, but finally I understand and give a soft laugh. "It's Julian, isn't it," I say.

And I'm right: Julian again. I wonder whether this guy owns the whole city, or only the best parts of it. Daedalus leaves me shortly after our talk, because there are some things to be settled now. I trust he will not harm the man, but he will talk to Julian about the further proceedings. I don't know why I am so damn protective about this scoundrel who has already relieved me of all the money I have, but it has probably all to do with morale and integrity. The other thought, the lurking one, is that Julian is behind all that. It's a mean thought, but I can't help having it.

After all, it sounds just too easy now, Daedalus giving in to all I say, taking care of the matter, talking to Julian and so forth. I'll have to find out if there's a "big scheme", sooner or later, or if I'm just a lucky guy. I'll have to thank Julian for his help, if things develop like Daedalus promised they will. That implies that there will be a second date with my Latin Lover Prince. Well, at least, it's a good reason for meeting him again. Remembering our first night together, I'm all anticipation.

It's time for the next move, too. Dr. McKay is on his way.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

"I can't have one of my reporters breaking the law and blackmailing upstanding citizens," Julian, predictably, told me. "He'll be out of a job and out of this city before the end of the week."

I inclined my head in gratitude and took my leave, thanking the gods that our relationship is so different from that of other Kindred and their princes. No mentioning of any debt owed, no condition, just help asked and given in response to necessity. Now Callum may rest easily.

Julian Luna truly is an amazing individual. In spite of his low opinion of my Callum, he never hesitated when I brought the matter to his attention. It may, of course, be that as owner of the paper in question he simply can't tolerate such unseemly conduct among his employees, but I suspect he may be overcoming his prejudices and be beginning to see Callum as I do.

The thought is both calming and disturbing.

Even though the fact remains that Julian is emphatically heterosexual, there is the growing fear that I could easily lose Callum to him if he ever put his mind to it. Julian always gets what he wants, whom he wants. If he ever wanted my Callum, I wouldn't stand a chance.

Giving in to my predilection for self-torture, I sit down at my desk to look into the small mirror situated next to it.

The sight that greets me is, admittedly, not quite as horrendous as the reflection I saw in the underground lake on Crete all those centuries ago. Gone are the scales and the horn-like protuberances on my forehead, the reddish sores all over my body. Time and alchemy have slowly formed my face and form into something I can look at without feeling disgust, but some aspects still resist all my attempts of changing them. Deep-set eyes that look black and lifeless in this dim light; gaunt, angular features, a grotesquely enlarged, bald head and ridiculous ears, grey skin, pale lips, monstrous teeth – compared with Julian's handsome, even features, his smile, his charm, his beautiful body, it doesn't take a genius to guess whom Callum would choose. Surely, it's merely a matter of time before this dream will come to an end.

I look over to the chest that holds my alchemical equipment. Maybe it's time for another treatment. If I can further reduce even one aspect of the Nosferatu curse, it may buy me more time with Callum.

But my last attempt showed me that my hair growth formula is still far from perfect; cartilage reconstruction is tricky and usually requires several attempts to achieve satisfactory results, and bone regrowth is a time consuming and painful process which would completely put me out of commission for a least three nights. All of this doesn't take into account the setback I usually suffer before a true equilibrium between alchemy and blood is achieved, and those consequences tend to leave me weak and irritable and of no use to anyone.

No. I don't have time for this. I have a house to rebuild.

With that thought in mind, I turn the mirror away and begin to compile a list of things I'll need during the first step. There's a DIY store nearby that sells both plants and construction materials that'll receive a visit from me before the night is out.

* * *

_**Callum**_

This time, Julian picks me up with his car; that is, a limousine with dark tinted windows, driven by a chauffeur, is waiting in the side-street by the hospital, and Julian is sitting in the rear, patiently waiting for me to join him. From this point of view, I could easily get used to luxury, had there not been this strange episode with some kind of gangster boss back in my "then" days; a memory that cautions me that I shouldn't make the same mistake twice, especially not "now."

He smiles at me this special semi-smile of his, and although we are being watched by the driver, he almost answers my embrace. I am both perplexed and pleased about this change of demeanour, as showing feelings of friendship hasn't been an essential part of the Julian I've known before. And, what is more, he looks as cute as ever, especially when he is smiling. "Cute" is an attribute he would probably never allow anyone to utter, not even me; although I believe he thinks low enough of me to take it for granted, just because I can't help thinking it…

So, we are sitting here, the car is comfy, the guy is great, this one here is looking his best, too, and everything is just fine. Julian looks at me expectantly, still smiling his enigmatic smile. I smile back. "So? Where to, my Prince?"

This evokes a little laugh. "I thought we were going out today. Isn't that what you wanted us to do?"

I feel that I'm blushing, and in order to prevent myself from going sissy again, I dig up the most male part of my personality, leaning back and giving Julian the McKay Stare. "You're right, Julian. And that's what we're gonna do." While racking my brains where I expected us to go, I hear myself rattling on, "It seems we're both in for black tie, so… take us somewhere expensive. And then I'd like to go dancing. And then maybe you could show me the Haven. Daedalus has told me about it, and I'm dying to get to know your personal Elysium."

I halt. Julian, who has meanwhile signalled the driver to get going, is now watching me with another kind of smile, one that tells me that his majesty is highly amused. "My personal… Elysium. Yes, Callum. Why not." He eyes me from top to toe, for one long precious moment, maybe out of habit, before adding, "We have a lot to talk about, don't we."

I slowly realize what I said, and before he can add anything else, I add, "I didn't mean the state of perfect happiness after death, it's only a word Daedalus told me about. Elysium; well, it's just a word, eh?" Listening to myself, I grow aware that I'm digging myself in even deeper, but I can't stop now. "I mean, not just a word, of course, and talking about perfect happiness, well, that is something we've already had, if I'm not mistaken." I feel hot now. I'm talking way too much.

The corners of Julian's mouth are twitching, but I still can't make out in which way. So, maybe he understands I'm not being serious, or maybe he is just entertained by my helpless babbling. I try a last stand. "Julian, your pose doesn't help me. Look, the whole situation is still new to me, being immortal is still new to me, and looking at you like this, sitting next to you like this, well, it all just reduces me to some kind of… rabbit. Sorry."

Now he smiles at me openly, and I am relieved to find no scorn. He bends forward for a moment, scanning me like a bird of prey, before he leans back again, slightly nodding to himself. "I understand, Callum McKay. You may rest assured that I have no intention to reduce you to anything, especially not anything of the rodent kind." I can see he is enjoying himself greatly. "May I suggest we go to Tassilo's first. The choice of the dance floor, though, will be yours. And then… we'll see."

With this, my humble self is left speechless, and we go to the most secluded and expensive restaurant in the whole area. Apart from the fact that everybody seems to know Julian, and that we get a very good table (although I recall that a table in this restaurant has to be booked at least half a year in advance) and that everybody seems to take it for granted that Julian is going out with a guy, and that all this is just a bit too posh for my taste – apart from all those facts it's still too good to be true. And the lad is so full of himself he's almost floating.

I sit down next to him and shake my head in disbelief. After the appropriate questioning glance from Julian's side, I answer, "You've planned all this meticulously, or else I can only conclude that you can read minds."

"There has been a bit of planning on my side, and I can indeed read minds, to be honest," he replies, "But don't overestimate the significance of our meeting, Callum. May I remind you that I am an important member of this city, which implies a lot of business dinners. I am at this place every week, and this table is reserved on a regular base. You wanted something expensive, and this is your lucky day. No romance. No special treatment."

"Aw, Julian, you're tough," I say, adding in my mind, 'Don't I deserve a special treatment, just a little bit?'

He shows his half-smile again. "Had you become my childe, I would think differently. But the way it is, you should be aware that I tolerate our meetings out of curiosity, nothing more."

I feel the heat grow in my stomach, even before the first course arrives. "Tolerate, Julian? Just tolerate? Excuse me, but our last… meeting looked quite a bit more than just a… what? a kind of business dinner. And could it not be, Mister Luna, that you just _like_ to spend an evening with me, maybe even like to share some nice… experiences, like the things we did?" I'm angry now, and confused, and afraid of what will become of this.

Julian looks at me as if he's just grown aware of his mistake, cocking his head here and there, slowly making up his mind what to say next. Finally, he lowers his glance and utters, "I am sorry that this evening has taken a direction neither of us was prepared for. Maybe we should call it a day."

Before he can stand up, I close my hand over his. "Wait, Julian." My anger blows over as fast as it had come, and suddenly I am afraid of losing him. To my surprise, he remains seated, and doesn't even pull back his hand. "Look, I'm sorry," I continue. "I didn't mean to spoil it." The waiter approaches, and I dutifully take my hand away just in time. Julian sends him on another round, with the excuse that we haven't chosen yet, but of course I can't put my hand back onto his. Feeling that I still haven't lost him up, I go on, "I don't know how we came to this point. Let's start again. All I wanted to say is how grateful I am for your help with that reporter, and how nice it is to be with you. Everything else can wait until we are some place else, where the situation isn't so damn formal and we can talk more… freely. Please, Julian."

He shakes his head laughing quietly, and I take it the evening is saved, after all.

We don't talk much over the meal, just like the last time we met. I notice that he isn't hungry for mortal food today, or else he doesn't want to strain himself with all the stuff that won't be of much use to him, anyway. I wonder whether he's hungry for something else… He must have seen the flicker in my eyes, and his glance tells me that he is. I smile softly, turning our quiet conversation into something like a flirt. Then he breaks the spell in order to claim the bill, and I remind myself to be patient.

Back in the car, I ask, "Where is it you usually go dancing?"

"I don't go dancing."

I laugh, and giving in to my suddenly folly mood I try to imitate Bela Lugosi, declaring: "I do not drink… vine… And I do not go… dauncing… I just listen to zer musick of zer night and vatch ozzers tvist zeir ankles."

Julian joins the laughter. "But it is true," he says. "If you want to go to a disco, feel free."

"Don't tell me you don't know how to dance."

"I do. The classical range, waltz, two-step, tango, and the like."

"Oh."

"I will drink wine, though. But I'll… vatch."

"You'll vatch." I realize we're flirting again. As this is one of those rare situations I intend to enjoy up to the last bit, I gulp down any smart comment on watching other guys dance, and dare trail Julian's jaw line with my fingertips, just a bit. He shakes his head again, still smiling, catches my hand and won't let go for another precious little moment.

But instead of doing something reasonable like kissing it or at least stroking it or something like that, he simply puts it back on my knee and turns to tell the driver where to go. We go to the club I mentioned in the restaurant, wisely omitting the fact that it's a gay bar. Nevertheless, Julian looks quite relaxed up to the moment when we sit down in one of the corners. Only then he turns to look at me. "There's no women in here."

I grin back. "Nope, there's no women."

His eyes narrow, just a bit. "What's this kind of club, then?"

"I thought you knew," I reply, playing the innocent. "It's a gay club."

He hesitates, and stands up again, but instead of running away he only takes off his tie, slips out of his jacket, and leans back, obviously enjoying the whole thing. It's my turn to stare. He looks at me with professional naiveté, then grins mischievously. "You wanted to dance. Have a go, Dr McKay. I'll have a vine and vatch. "

I am too surprised to feel rebellious any more, and the thought of Julian watching me on the dance floor is quite stimulating, too. What is more, he doesn't only watch me, but he scans the whole dance floor, and it doesn't take much to understand that this is his personal salad bar. But of course, it makes perfect sense: Julian obviously realizes that the choice of his victims has just doubled in size. It's not what I had in mind, but to him it must be quite some prospect. Suddenly, one of the guys is standing next to him, and Julian actually gets up. I feel a burst of jealousy in my guts, and am by his side in an instant.

Fortunately, the guy knows me, and without a word turns to go to another table, throwing me an almost apologetic glance. Julian, though, is not amused. "Why, Callum, I was not aware that I am under your protection." His tone of voice is cold.

"But it's all right if I'm under yours," I reply. "You know what I think? I think it was all a setup," I add, suddenly bold.

He halts and looks at me, one long penetrating glance. Then he smiles again, this annoying enigmatic smile, and I still don't know, and I'm growing really annoyed. "Stop playing games with me, Julian Luna," I say. There is an awkward pause. "Anyway, if you want to drink someone's blood tonight, it should be mine."

His eyes are on me, still hard, but I sense his thirst is stronger than his wish to chide me. "We should leave. Now."

I pick up his jacket, making a move to help him with it, but he merely grabs it and strides in front of me without turning. I hurry to catch up with him, the limo starts before I've closed the door, and in less than a quarter we're back at his place. No one talks of the Haven any more, and I, having other things on my mind, am careful to avoid the topic. I follow Julian to his study, where he drops onto his sofa and only then looks up to meet my eyes, and the look in his eyes is, for lack of a better word, primal.

I stop, and suddenly strangely touched by the surrealism of the situation, remain standing in the doorway. We look at each other. There is something more going on between us, apart from an almost palpable affection, something like a weird desire, something like thirst, something else maybe, that has nothing to do with Julian or me, and that is totally different from what we shared last time. I can feel it is dangerous. I could lose myself in it, and then I'd lose everything else, too.

Fighting for control, I sit down next to him. And still, we don't touch. When I finally dare speak, I find my voice nice and calm, just like it's supposed to be. "Julian. It's okay now. Whatever you want."

And although I have been expecting it, the attack comes so suddenly. He swoops down on me, ripping my shirt, then sinks his teeth into my shoulder with a desperate muffled cry, drinking like he is dying from thirst, and I can only so much as try to fend him off before he kills me. Finally, our breathing calms down a bit, and although I am exhausted in a most vital way, I hold Julian in my arms, stroking his back soothingly. He is still making these harsh little moans, it almost sounds like sobbing. I hear the noise of my own heartbeat ringing in my ears, and I couldn't tell if it is because of the blood loss or because of the thing I'm about to say. Finally, I have the guts to speak. "It's not me who should hold you like this, Julian. Right?"

I hear another muffled cry as an answer, still only half human, and ignoring the fingers digging painfully into my back, I rock him gently, or maybe I'm just swaying by myself, I couldn't tell, the world is reduced to a single cell, with Julian and me and a sofa, and I feel drunk, and I want to have sex with him, right here and now, I know he feels the same, I just know it, we are both highly aroused, and then we're sharing this wonderful long and deep kiss. And the spell breaks.

"Leave." Julian's voice is still rough, yet unmistakable and imperious.

I force a smile, wiping my taste off his lips with my finger. "I will, Julian. But promise me one thing."

"What?"

"Talk to him."

With this, I go home.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

It's been more than the three nights I promised Frederick, what with the Brujah altercation laying me up and the things happening with Callum, but now we're finally gathered for a night of playing. And since the sewer access was completed yesternight, I have spontaneously decided to host the clan meeting in my new haven, in the basement in Callum's - in our - house.

The other Clans don't know a lot of things about us, and that's the way we like it. They think we're sewer-dwelling wretches who have no joy in unlife except in the trading of information, and that we're lonely and miserable (and dirty) most of the time. While that still may be true, we do have fun with each other occasionally – no, make that as often as we can. Even Toreador have nothing on our parties (and I should know, since I've been an unseen and uninvited guest at several of Lillie's "occasions"), but our gatherings always serve two purposes besides having fun: furthering Clan unity, and keeping one step ahead of the Oldest Ones.

I hope I'll never have to tell Callum about this insidious and ever-present sword of Damocles hanging over my head whenever I venture away from the warren or out onto the surface. He'd probably insist on my staying in the sewers – just when I've come to accept the idea of living in a house like a normal man. No. I will not think of the Nictuku tonight. Having fun, and furthering Clan unity – that's what this night will be all about.

I watch my clanmates as they arrive. There are not many left in the aftermath of Goth and his wretched plans. While we, as a whole, do not look on our antitribu with the same unconditional hatred as the other clans do, the decision Goth put before us touched an ancient nerve, and the temptation to disregard the Masquerade and return to the old ways was great. Consequently, I am not sure I can entirely trust those that remained.

With three exceptions. Gary and his childe Horse arrive together, Gary moving his bulky, wart-covered body with surprising agility, while Horse, so called because of his protruding teeth and no less bulky form, ambles along with the gait of a large bear. They call out the ritual greeting before entering my haven, and I welcome them without hesitation. I have known Gary for decades; he was one of the first Nosferatu to settle in the Bay area, embraced in the Old World like myself. Listening to him reciting Shakespeare (whom he professes to have known in person when he was still breathing) with the Middle English accent of the times is an unforgettable experience. He, Horse (whose real name is Winston, but hardly anyone calls him that), and Frederick, his other childe, were the only ones who did not forsake me for Goth.

Camilla is next to arrive. She halts outside, visibly hesitant. "I, Camilla, wish to visit you in your new haven, Daedalus," she calls, her voice strong despite her hesitation.

"Welcome, Camilla," I reply, and she enters, looking around out of her permanently changed reptilian eyes.

I wave her over to the area of the basement I've cleared of building paraphernalia for this meeting. A loose circle of pillows and blankets on the bare floor indicates that this will not be a formal clan meeting, and she visibly relaxes. Inclining her head to Gary and Horse who are already seated, she takes a seat, smoothing her black dress and folding her legs underneath herself.

"I commend your idea, Daedalus," she says. "We cannot afford any more friction, and our losses were great."

"Thank you, but it wasn't my idea," I refute. "Frederick informed me that I should stop sulking already."

She smiles, and Gary laughs softly. They start exchanging anecdotes about Gary's childe while Fox's voice calls out the greeting.

I welcome her in and hardly have time to settle her before Joshua, our newest clanmate, arrives, looking nervous. It's his first clan meeting. He isn't even acknowledged yet, having been embraced mere weeks ago. His ritual greeting, though, is firmly worded – obviously Camilla coached him well.

He finds a seat next to his sire, who reaches for his hand and smiles at him in her gentle way. Fox, meanwhile, the red splotches that cover most of her skin and gave her her nickname garish in the low lights, is playing with her single braid of hair, something most of us envy her for.

Next, there's Patty, a small thin Nosferatu with an aptitude for computers who rarely ventures away from her haven. Sure enough, she starts fingering her PDA as soon as she has found her pillow next to Fox.

Then George arrives, mumbling the greeting and finding a pillow out of the way. The way he looks, his slow way to move and the unblinking manner with which he stares at everyone have contributed to his nickname "Crocodile George".

I look around, counting bald heads. As usual, Frederick appears to be the last to arrive, and I assume that he has once more been designated to bring the refreshments. And speaking of which... I move to the refrigerator and take out a handful of coke bottles, pre-empting Frederick but proving that I can be a good host. I must remember to thank Callum for being thoughtful enough to stock up.

Sounds of delight greet the sight of the vile brown sugar water. I roll my eyes and line up my red wine next to my pillow.

Frederick chooses this moment to amble through the sewer exit, calling out in his hoarse voice, "Yo, boss! I mean, may I, Frederick, be permitted to unload myself upon one of those pillows I spy in your haven?"

"Freddy..." Gary chides wearily with an apologetic glance in my direction.

I merely grin. Frederick is capable of adhering to the Traditions to the letter if and when he chooses to do so, but his position as my second grants him a certain leeway which he frequently makes full use of. He has also brought a large, squirming sack, guaranteed to make him everybody's favorite clanmate for the evening.

Holding it up, he rasps, "Everybody check their ghouls. I think these are wild – I caught them near Golden Gate Park. But it can't hurt to be too careful."

The assembled Nosferatu briefly close their eyes, mentally contacting their ghouled rats and shaking their heads one by one. I refrain, since I never ghoul rats. They are too short-lived even if sustained by our blood, and it is always painful to lose a ghoul. The last animal I ghouled is a crow, and he is over one hundred years old. I love him dearly.

A hissing sound proclaims the opening of the coke bottle, which I take as a sign to open the proceedings. "Thank you all for coming to my new haven. From now on, I can either be reached here or in the gatehouse. For all of you who don't know – Callum McKay, who lives here as well, is exempt from the Tradition of the Masquerade, since, contrary to appearances, he is not a mortal. I trust him completely in all matters, and you may do so as well. In return for our trust, he has agreed to provide the clan with shelter here in this house. Therefore, from this night on, this house is one of our official wayplaces."

Murmurs and a few sneezes greet this announcement, but from my clanmates' grins, I take it that this extension of our resources is well-received.

"As for this night's entertainment," I go on, "I have decided to call an Aranta-Shadur."

There are some cheers at this, while Camilla leans close to Joshua to explain about our ritual hunt, in which the participants are required to "steal" one specified item from a non-Nosferatu without being noticed, bring it here as proof of the deed, and then return it to their owner before morning. The losers are those who are caught, and of course, the difficulty of the assigned task varies with the respective Nosferatu's accomplishments.

"Here are the tasks," I say, handing out pieces of paper to each Nosferatu present. To my delight, no one bows out, not even Gary, who mumbles something about "needing the practice". "There is a number of waterjets near exit 25 at everyone's disposal. Does anyone require clarification?"

They read their tasks. Giggles and groans abound. One of the groans is emitted by Frederick, who has just discovered that I tasked him with stealing Julian's diary. Joshua, who is not even acknowledged and therefore on shaky ground with the breaking of any law, is merely required to bring one of Sasha's CDs – a harmless enough task, since I know her to be absent from her haven for the whole of the night and probably during the next day.

No one needs clarification, so they are off, leaving me to my wine and my thoughts.

I wonder where Callum is. I had hoped to be able to introduce him in person to my clan, but obviously, he has plans for the night, plans he neglected to tell me about. I have sworn to myself to respect his privacy, but at the moment, it is taking all my willpower to stay here and not find out what he is doing.

* * *

_**Callum **_

Thoroughly stirred by the discussion I had with Julian, and especially by the revelation that came out of it, I have been driving around idly for some time before my car finally takes me home again. When I open the door to my new house – our house – I immediately sense that we have guests, or rather, that my dear Daedalus has them. There is a roar of laughter coming up from the cellar, and some distinctive – and some quite indistinctive smells, too, that all hint at the still unfamiliar circumstance that these guests are far from human.

I take it Daedalus has made himself at home down there, and that his friends, or as he puts it, his clan, have accepted the fact that this is his new home. I feel utterly glad about it and thankful, not only because my supply of coke was not in vain, but also because this is a demonstration of loyalty he urgently needed. In order to show my gratitude, I am about to go downstairs to tell them in person, but then I hesitate.

After all, they are not like me, very much so, and apart from what I've already seen, they have a thing about their exteriors. Maybe some of them do not want to see me at all, or rather, they do not want me to see them. I should respect that, and if I ever plan to get to know them, I should announce my appearance well in advance. Besides, I am rather tired now, and I will only have a couple of hours of sleep, because just then, I remember that I have a date with Chao-dai the next morning.

Groaning softly at the unusual schedule and everything this implies, like, being immortal and needing to guard my own head and the like, I go to our new bedroom. And I smile upon entering it. Daedalus must have been working in the house and garden again. Every time I come home, there are new changes. What is more, he has produced a couple of enchanting ancient looking pots with some kind of palm trees that make the winter garden look like something from a movie. It is somewhat kitshy, true, but I allow myself to like it nevertheless.

Upon lying down, I hear another wave of laughter carry from downstairs, mixed with some stranger sounds I can hardly interpret as human. I close my eyes, knowing that right now, my house probably is the damn best guarded residence in the whole city, and I do intend to get used to those sounds rather fast. Those folks are Daedalus' family, hence they are my family, too - to some degree.

Before sleep can cradle me, my thoughts wander back to the remarkable night I shared with Julian, and I immediately feel hot again. There's no denying it, I can feel it so clearly, I am falling in love with him, too. It's not his looks only. Well, of course it's his looks, too, but I could simply go back to the club and pick my choice among at least five guys who equal him in looks and packs. None of them, though, would also equal him in spirits, let alone in intelligence. That's tempting. And it's so not good.

Shame on you, Callum McKay. Shame that you dare betray the one you love dearly, not only in your thoughts, but also in your heart and groin. But before master sleep finally carries me away, another thought slips through my mind: they belong together, Julian and Daedalus, do they not, and if so, why should I not love them both.

* * *

_**Daedalus **_

It's early next evening. I have spent the day in the cellar, amidst the remains of last night's party, which really took off to impressive heights after the shadow hunters had returned victorious. Soon, almost everyone was high on sugar, and the racket we made must have been heard throughout the house.

The smell of tobacco smoke is still heavy in the air. It was day already when the last of my Clanmates left my new haven to return to their own, and I suspect that most of the intimacies that began here were continued elsewhere, and not just by couples, either.

For the first time, I feel wistful, not indifferent, at the thought of being left out. I suppose that's something I have to thank Callum for. He showed me what I've been missing all those centuries. Oh yes, and what a delightful way of teaching me he has, my beautiful Callum!

But for now, it's a new night. My mind is filled with plans concerning the rebuilding of our house, things I have to verify, materials I have to obtain, but most of all, it is filled with exuberance. I realize that I haven't felt this... alive in a very long time.

Still considering plans, I return to Julian's compound and to my old having in the gatehouse. My desk is covered with drawings, schematics, plans and jotted down notes; testimony of an early morning fit of creativity that assailed me two nights ago. Smiling, I look over the sheets. A rose garden. A fountain. A deck. A drawing of some winged creature I made that same morning shortly before succumbing to the day's lethargy (and I have no idea where that came from). I pick it up to toss it, but then I resolve to show it to Callum. He may enjoy analyzing it before I discard it.

I have to talk to Callum. It's his house; I'm merely the architect. The plans for the remodeling should be his. Lots of things we have to discuss; I realize I don't even know if he likes rose gardens. Or sundials.

Which reminds me of the fact that I should inform my prince of my plans.

Julian is sitting at his desk as usual when I enter his study, but unusually, he practically jumps to his feet as soon as he notices me. Even more amazingly, he comes towards me and makes a gesture I'd interpret as an aborted hug if I didn't know better. While I'm still staring, Julian nonchalantly places his hands behind his back. "Good evening, Daedalus."

I recollect myself. "Julian. There is a small matter I have to inform you about." My heart is beating again, I notice. Strange how often it has done that since I met my Callum, after decades of resting still and cold in my chest.

"Wine?" Julian returns cordially.

I incline my head. "Yes."

He smiles at what appears to be a memory, but doesn't let me in on it. I don't press him, content to wait in silence for the completion of our little ritual - the opening of the bottle and the filling of the glasses.

"I'll be away from my haven for longer periods of time from now on," I intone when we have taken the first sip. Julian just looks at me expectantly, so I go on, "I can of course be reached via my usual cell phone number during those times."

"Ah. I see. Does it have to do with our Scottish friend?"

"Indeed, it has." Scottish friend? Something must have happened between them to explain this complete change of attitude towards Callum, but I'm much too excited to give the matter much thought. Fighting to keep my voice level, I inform Julian, "I'm building a house."

"A house."

"Yes."

"I see."

For some reason, he doesn't seem to share my exuberance, but this doesn't put me off in the slightest. "To be precise, the house already exists. I'm rebuilding it."

"Your house." His tone of voice sounds odd.

"Callum's house," I clarify. "He invited me to live with him."

His reaction to this joyful news is not at all what I expected. Julian glares, downs the wine in one go, puts down the glass with unnecessary force, and walks to the fireplace to stand with his back turned to me.

Confused, I watch him, trying to discern the cause for his sudden mood change. He almost seems angry. How could something that brings me so much joy be a source of anger for him? As always when in doubt, I fall back on the letter of the Law. "I will, of course, continue to be available, should you require my services as your enforcer," I tell his back, feeling my way blind through the obstacles of his displeasure.

"As my enforcer?" He turns to look at me. "Just as my enforcer?"

Ah. So that's what this is about. "Of course not. You will always remain my friend." As if he could ever doubt that!

He seems brittle. "I wanted to talk to you about something. But as things stand, this isn't the right moment…"

"The night is still young," I try to reassure him. "I'm listening."

A sigh escapes Julian. He seems ashamed of it, and it almost appears as if he would blush if he could. Then he sits down, visibly trying to regain his composure. "Under these circumstances, I… No, I can't."

Now I'm worried. "Julian, what is it? You know I… will do whatever I can."

For a moment, he merely looks at me in silence. Suddenly, he gives a soft laugh. "You'll never change, will you? Always so… concerned…"

"Does it have to do with Callum?" I ask slowly.

"Yes and no. No, actually… It has to do with us."

"If you are concerned that our relationship will change because I'll be spending time away from this house, I assure you that this won't be the case."

"And I am sure you mean well." Again, I notice an odd tone in his voice.

"Of course." I'm still confused.

Julian sighs again, this time more, shall we say, princely. "I know." He looks away in thought. "Do you remember when we first met?" he goes on after a pause. "You were always concerned, from the very beginning. Always caring…"

Of course I remember. I had a lot to be concerned about back then, considering Julian's position and the pressure he was under starting almost the minute he was acknowledged. Archon was a strict sire, who frequently demanded too much of his childe. I also think, as I did then, that Julian was made Archon's Enforcer much too soon. It was not my place to criticize the Prince of the city, though, so I did what I could for Julian behind the scenes, and often in the shadows, or in my haven - coming to his aid, comforting him after a particularly harrowing assignment, or just talking to him. "I have always found our friendship very rewarding," I say with feeling, "and I would not change it for anything."

"Neither would I." He looks at me with an expression I can only call sentimental.

"Does this put your mind at rest, Julian?" I ask hopefully.

"Actually, it doesn't."

"Then, what must I do?"

"I… Will you sit down, please?"

Confused once more, I do as I'm told.

"Not there. Here." He gestures at the sofa he's sitting on.

Again, I comply without a word, sitting down next to him.

Julian looks at me for a long moment. "I remember every single night, or so it seems. You were the only one who cared for me, then. And you still are."

"Archon cared for you", I argue. "He may have had an unusual way of showing it, but that makes it no less true."

"Archon lied to me," he says gruffly. "He never behaved like a father. You never lied to me."

At that, I smile. "No." On the contrary. I've been brutally honest if the occasion demanded it, but I've never lied. His friendship is far too precious to me for that.

"What I wanted to tell you… I don't know how to put it." He reaches out to put his hand on my shoulder. "Don't get me wrong, Daedalus." Now he can but whisper. "You always behaved like a father to me. And I swear to God, I wish you had been the one."

His words move me deeply, and now I'm the one who has to keep myself from reaching out to my friend. Instead, I look down onto my hands. "I doubt you would have enjoyed a Nosferatu's existence," I murmur. Looking up again, I meet his eyes. "But I, too, have sometimes wished that you had been my childe."

Julian hesitates as if struggling with a decision. "Do you remember how you held me in your arms when I was desperate and afraid?" he finally says. "After Manzanita?"

"I'll never forget it."

He looks away. His voice is hoarse. "Would you… hold me like that again?"

Oh, Julian. Speechless, I open my arms, and he comes into them with a sigh of relief that affects me profoundly.

As I sit holding my friend, his hesitant voice reaches me. "And if you… had been my sire all the same? And if you… still are…?"

There's some obstruction in my throat. When I finally get past it, my voice sounds deep and hoarse, just like his. "Clan barriers have always been unimportant to us. I'll always be there for you in whatever way I can."

To my dismay, Julian starts sobbing softly. Overcome with emotion myself, I can but hold on to him, be there for him like I have in the past.

"I love you," Julian whispers. "You know I do."

"I know. And I love you."

"Sire."

I hold on to him as if I'd never let him go. My prince. My friend.

My childe.

Finally, Julian calms down enough to be able to look at me again, and he solemnly kisses my hand.

* * *

To be continued... 


	15. Changes

**Chapter 15 - Changes**

* * *

For Disclaimer see Chapter 1

* * *

_**Callum**_

It is early in the morning, and I cannot stop yawning. My body feels numb as if I've not had any sleep at all for at least three days. In fact, I did not have much sleep, due to the exhilarating fact that I am spending the better part of my nights with Daedalus, which in turn means… well, not to sleep much. But now I have to push these thoughts away, because I am on my way to Chao-dai's once more, and he expects me to be in time and fully functional.

As usual, he awaits me in front of the house, and after I got out of the car, we walk to the training ground in silence. We rarely exchange so much as a greeting, apart from the obligatory bow that comes in handy with the temple and all. And I do feel like a pupil visiting his guru, or this Shao Lin monk from the movies, if only Chao-dai would look more like an elderly Chinese guy.

He is much too tall for that, and his features are what one could call gaunt, yet strangely attractive, with his pale skin and the tousled dark brown hair. But it is his nose that makes him the last choice for Chinese. He could be Roman, or even Greek, but then again, something about him is different. I wonder where he came from, and how old exactly he is. But I don't dare ask. He can have this Look in his eyes that efficiently keeps me from being too curious.

This guy really can give me the creeps. First, there is the training. He has shown me a lot of good movements already, and as far as I can tell, I turned out to be a quite passable pupil. But whatever I do, he is faster, more efficient, more flexible… Whatever feint I pull, he seems to be completely oblivious of it, but parries my movement just as quickly, so that I could have spared myself the trouble from the beginning.

It is like fighting against the proverbial brown bear. Sometimes, he has something predatory about him, the way he moves, the way he looks at me, licking his lips, screwing up his nose. After only ten minutes, I am covered in sweat. Although I remember what he had tried to teach me during our last lessons, I am starting to get angry. My attacks grow more and more frantic, at the same time more fierce, and still he parries them with unbelievable ease. Another desperate thrust, and my sword goes on a flight, plunging into the soil many yards away.

All I can feel now is the cool blade of Chao-dai's sword on my throat. My eyes widen with fear: has he suddenly changed his mind and wants to take an easy head now? But this cannot be. And yet, the blade hurts, I have the image of blood trickling on my collar. Chao-dai's eyes are closed to slits. "Not funny," I manage to utter. "Not meant to be," he answers with what I can only call a guttural voice.

Maybe it is the heat of the moment, or the desperateness of my situation, but suddenly my senses heighten, and I feel I'm focusing on something inside of him. We are that close that our bodies almost touch, and I feel I am drowning in his eyes. Then, in the fracture of a second, they all seem to fall off him, one by one: all the personalities he has ever had, and I am traveling back in time, faster, faster, until I finally see him. And I realize that I am looking Death himself in the eye. I gasp and shove him away, then I stumble and drop onto the floor.

Chao-dai is standing there, watching me, panting just like I am. He cannot possibly know, and yet he seems to realize that I have touched some part of his soul that has not been touched before, at least not for a very long time. Maybe it even is a part of his soul that he himself has forgotten. And he can tell by the look in my eyes how stirring this was.

I have to do something. I feel that I'm still shaking, but I compel myself to look up at him. "Hey," I say, forcing a smile. "That was bad." I struggle to my feet while trying to stare back at him. "Listen… Uhm… We could…," I venture. But I am silenced by him with a gesture.

I can only guess what he might be going through right now, but unlike other people who might probably be merely shocked by what they saw, or who would like to ask him about it, I feel that I should treat this like any other case of mine. I understand that I have touched a part of his psyche that is utterly vulnerable as well as dreadful, and I try to convey this understanding in my expression. Now, I really do feel for him, and only because of that, the look in my face is authentic. Once again, no words are needed.

After a couple of seconds, Chao-dai pulls the corners of his mouth down for this characteristic smile of his, then turns to pick up my sword. He hands it to me, avoiding my glance, and I can see that his eyes are shining with tears. For one precious moment, the pupil was no pupil any more, and the teacher no teacher. We walk back to the house in unison, then share a silent cup of tea in the huge hall. Finally, it is time for me to drive to the hospital, and on an impulse, I hug him good-bye. For the first time of our relationship, he hugs me back.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

Hidden from sight, I approach the security guard who has just returned from his round and is sitting down in front of the surveillance monitors. He's looking tired, I determine, staring at him from up close. He could use a nap. It would do him a world of good.

I fade into view right in front of him, watching his eyes take me in and go wide with horror during the split second before I pass my hand over his eyes to find a way into his mind. "Sleep," I say softly, compellingly, and then I gently guide his head towards the desk, settling him down comfortably.

Of course, the opportunity is too fortuitous to pass up, so I lean over him and take his unresisting hand in mine. A sharp nick of fangs, and his warm sweet blood pours into my mouth. My eyes close in bliss, and I begin to count as the world fades away for a few seconds, or half an eternity.

I stop at twelve. Twelve mouthfuls equals not even a pint of blood. He won't miss it, but it will sustain me for two nights.

Licking the wound close, I survey the vessel. He's resting easily, smiling a little, and from his smell and the tell-tale bulge in his pants I deduce that I've given him a pleasant dream. No harm done, then.

With the precious warmth and strength I stole spreading through my undead body, I sit down at the terminal for administrating the surveillance equipment next to the main power breaker. A few keystrokes later, the security cameras are disabled, and I leave the security area to head into the main store, taking out my list as I walk.

Mortar, chalk, paint, wallpaper, glue, tiles – and a second run later tonight for plants and gardening stuff. I get myself a trolley, and then I make my way through the dark aisles, now and then grabbing what materials I need off the shelves (making a list of the prices as I go), one wheel of the trolley squeaking softly, rhythmically in the silence.

The larger materials like doors and two-by-fours are already at the house. I purchased them a few nights ago – if you can call what I did purchasing. I broke and entered, I rendered the security guard unconscious (just like tonight), and I carried off the goods without knowledge or consent of the owners. The only thing that makes it something other than burglary is the fact that I paid for everything.

True, I could have used Obfuscate and made the purchase legally in the early evenings wearing, for example, Mr Forrester's face. There is something that kept me from doing that, though. DIY stores are usually full of people, and the things I need are not just a brush and a tub of paint. I'm rebuilding a house. People would have noticed. They might have tried to strike up a conversation and talk to me. I'm simply not used to talking to mortals, not even after my association with my Callum. I don't trust my abilities to act like a mortal when surrounded by so many of them. Sad, but true.

Finally, I push my overladen trolley towards a cash register, where I take out my pen and notebook.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," I write, "I apologize for this repeated inconvenience, but I have once more availed myself of the excellent materials available here. Enclosed please find a note listing items and prices, as well as the exact amount of money I owe you in cash. P.S.: I hope that this won't be held against your security personnel. They're blameless."

Leaving the note, list, and money at the cash register, I hand my loot over to Frederick who's waiting outside.

"Cool, boss," he rasps as we load the materials into the van. "That should tide us over for the next few nights. Can we make a stop at a grocer's on the way back? We're out of Coke."

The work progresses much faster than I expected. Soil consistency worked in our favor for once, so I'm expecting to connect to the sewer system by the beginning of next week. Already, I'm spending my days in Callum's basement, working far into the morning and rising again before sunset. The work is physically demanding and not exactly safe because I'm spending so much time on the surface, but I haven't had so much fun in a long time.

Frederick, Joshua, Winston, and Skip take turns helping me with the more delicate parts of the sewer access construction while using every opportunity to enjoy themselves as is their prerogative. Each of them has suffered a Nosferatu existence for decades (months, in Joshuas case, as he's the youngest among us). As long as the Laws and Commandments are observed, I won't keep them from having as much fun as they deem necessary. After all, I myself am finally in a position to not merely bear, but enjoy, my existence, and if I'm honest with myself, I'm rebuilding Callum's house just for that – to be close to him, and to enjoy him, and myself.

And while I'm on the subject, could it be that I'm growing mellow? Not a night passes where I'm not smiling at least once. I've caught myself humming stupid little melodies more often than I care to count. I've started to consider calling Callum by silly nicknames the way he does me. Clanmates are suddenly smiling at me when they run across me in the warrens instead of quietly fading into the shadows the way they have always done. I'm even considering letting Julian win a game of chess one of these nights just to wipe that morose expression off his face.

Asked and answered, I think.

Of course, amidst all the fun and games of building, sculpting, planting, planning, talking, and enjoying Callum, there are serious moments. Like the one that is coming up now.

Callum has asked me to come to the hospital as soon as possible (meaning before dark, or as soon as I can manage it). I know that Daniel will have to leave us soon. Callum has no medical reason to keep him there anymore, and while I've tried to find other solutions, the fact remains that the boy will have to be adopted soon, or he'll end up in an orphanage. I also know that Callum (and myself) have tried to do everything in our respective powers to prevent that from happening. Daniel is special. He should not end up in the care of this state or its servants. And the fact that Callum requested my presence means (I hope!) that this situation is finally coming to an acceptable conclusion.

When I enter Callum's office, Marcos and Daniel are also there, which I have just time to notice before Callum rises and embraces me right in front of them. „Daedalus, great you could come in time."

"What's the occasion?" I ask to cover my embarrassment, even though I can guess the answer.

Before Callum can tell me, Daniel pipes up. "We're celebrating that I don't have to go to an orphanage. Marcos is gonna take me in!"

Marcos, who's obviously (for someone who know him well) trying to keep a certain nervousness from showing, merely permits himself a proud grin.

„I'm glad," I say, smiling at the child. "This is the right decision to make."

"He has all the papers we needed," Callum explains, adding with a mischievous grin, "That guy really is a pro… And suddenly it all went quite fast." He looks at Marcos, and I can see that he, too, is noticing the old immortal's nervousness.

"You should be a seasoned hand at this, Marcos," I state, couching my question in a statement the way we used to do at King Minos's court.

"Yes I am," Marcos returns, not admitting to any weakness, just like I expected him to. "We are to return to my family."

Daniel, who doesn't seem to have noticed the byplay, can't contain his excitement any longer. "Greece! We're going to Greece, isn't that great!"

Callum smiles indulgently. "Yes it is. But I'll still miss you, both of you."

He's taking the words out of my mouth. "Yes," I comment inanely.

There's no doubt that with the presence of Marcos and Daniel something was added to this ward, something that, for lack of a better word, I can only call epic. I still recall with crystal clarity the vision that I received not too long ago. And the fact that an immortal who's older than myself will take care of this remarkable boy who can speak ancient Greek and write ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs must certainly signify something. Once again, I can't help thinking that I've been part of something beyond my ken by having known them.

And why do I get the feeling that this is not the end of my association with Daniel?

Callum gets up and gets a bottle of champagne he must have kept here for this very occasion. "At least, we'll have a toast to the fortunate addition to the family." Pouring drinks, he distributes glasses to the adults.

Predictably, the only non-adult and human person in the room objects, "Can't I have one, too, since it's my occasion and all?"

Callum lifts a tiny plastic cup like those used for oral vaccinations and wiggles it in response.

"You grow up, you'll get more," Marcos says strictly, obviously getting into the part of being Daniel's foster father with ease in spite of his nervousness.

"But that's gonna take ages!"

"Ten years, to be exact," Callum interjects, smiling.

Marcos grins and throws back head the way us Greek have always done. "No, not that much. He can have more wine when he's 14."

The young genius doesn't like this prospect. "In six years?" he sulks, but then he apparently resolves to be an adult about this. "No matter," he says haughtily. "Alcohol is a poison anyway. I don't want it."

I silently applaud him. It's quite a feat for an eight-year-old to turn an apparent disadvantage into an argument in his favor. This boy will go far.

"Yeah," Callum can't resist adding, "and it'll keep you from growing up high and mighty, it'll make your brains shrink and your willie…"

"Isn't that coffee?" I interrupt him before Daniel can turn that argument around as well. Or, on second thoughts, before I will. I still enjoy alcohol (in the form of wine), and I can't say it has had any of the effects my Callum has mentioned. As Callum should very well know.

My immortal merely pokes me with his elbow. I smile. Reducing the other side to physical arguments always denotes victory.

Daniel watches us and grins at our antics, and I can tell he's marshaling his own arguments, but at that moment, Marcos stands up, holding up his glass. "Ghia mas. May we meet again in as happy a round."

Not wanting to be put out, Daniel recites an old Greek drinking toast he must have read in a book, and he recites it in ancient Greek. Callum, of course, doesn't understand a word and merely looks at the boy, trying not to let his ignorance show.

The child has chosen one of the more innocuous toasts, but still one that was quite popular among warriors. For a moment, a series of memories assails me, moments of camaraderie and shared sorrows among like-minded individuals, but I suppress it ruthlessly. This is not the time to indulge in the past.

"Do you perchance know what they were talking about, Daniel?" Marcos quizzes the boy.

The child blinks behind his glasses. "That they will use better glasses next time."

"That was not it," the ancient warrior corrects him. "It means that they will drink from their enemies' skulls next time."

Instead of being horrified (which I wasn't really expecting), the young scientist merely says, "Interesting. That makes perfect sense. It also ties in to the other toast I read in the same book where they say..."

"Yes, very nice, Daniel," Callum interrupts the child before he can get in full swing. "This was quite enlightening, really. But I'd rather have no other toasts tonight, thank you all the same."

A challenge. How could I resist? Keeping my face expressionless, I raise my glass. "When we next meet again, may it not be as enemies."

Marcos looks at me in silence, his eyes misting for a moment. I incline my head, mindful of the old adage that enemies accumulate, while friends come and go. It is good to know that Marcus understood my toast in the spirit it was intended.

Callum, on the other hand, just glowers. He's probably feeling put out because I blithely disregarded his request.

While I still match Callum's sour stare with a bland one of my own, Marcos drains his glass and puts it down, getting up immediately. "Right. We shouldn't miss our plane."

"You are leaving already?" I ask, surprised.

"Yes," Callum interjects sadly. "He seems to be in a hurry to get home."

Marcos tousles Daniel's hair in such a practiced, paternal way, that I'm hard-pressed not to be envious. "Now that we are released, we'd better leave," the immortal says solemnly.

The child, too, gets up and gathers a tiny rucksack. "I'm ready."

It is a painful moment, made even more painful by Daniel's obvious joy and excitement. I notice that my Callum is as moved by this farewell as I am. Good-byes are never easy, but they seem to be even harder when they make one ignore one's instincts.

And my instincts are fairly shouting at me right now. How I wish I'd have been the one to find the child, to keep and to protect him by myself, to watch him grow and learn and become the amazing scholar I can so clearly see in him now! And how envious I am of Marcos, who will see and do those things in my place! I am tempted to just step forward and take the child, make him and myself fade from the sight of everyone here and bring him to my lair, where no one, not even the ancient immortal who commanded armies, would be able to find him. It would be easy. Invisibility and supernatural speed would make me impossible to stop.

And I'd be a criminal, a dishonorable monster, one who doesn't deserve such friends.

Fortunately, the impulse fades with no one the wiser. Marcos, as oblivious as the others of the silent fight I just waged with my Beast, grabs his sword which has been lying on Callum's desk. "Ready, too. Theresa is waiting."

Daniel steps up to Callum and offers him his hand. "Thank you for everything you have done for me," he says with all the childlike earnestness of his few years. "I won't forget it."

Callum shakes his hand equally solemnly, and then he hugs him. "And I won't forget you, sweetie," he says into the child's hair.

"I'll miss you, child," I say softly to Daniel when Callum has released the child and allows me to say my good-byes, and I receive another earnest nod in reply, but no attempt to offer his hand or hug me.

And while I still marvel at Daniel's instinctive ability to respond to everyone at their own level (another sign of the child's immense social intelligence), I am caught in an embrace after all. "Another time, my friend, and we will have more of a chance to talk," Marcos tells me in ancient Greek. "Guard your friend well."

* * *

_**Callum**_

The ward seems not the same now that Daniel and Marcos have left. I had a hell of a lot of paperwork to do because of the unusual tutelage. I mean, the Americans really seem to have a problem with Greeks coming into their country and taking with them one of their abandoned children… But after all, even the social worker seemed to be relieved once everything was settled. And now they are gone. I should be happy for both of them. Marcos successfully fought his anger and found back to his family, and Daniel has found a new dad. Well, of course he would never call anyone that any more, but it's still a fact that Marcos is as close to a new dad as anyone can get.

I should be happy for myself, too. After all, I can finally go home after work; not as in 'walk back to my dusky quarters,' but as in 'drive through town as happily as a dervish and call out honey I'm home after closing the door of our house behind me.' The works are going faster than I would have dreamed of, and although most of the building is done at night, I can hardly hear them. They are working like rats in the cellar, no offence, and all I can hear from time to time is a soft scratching sound.

Apart from Freddy, the little guy with the hydrocephalus whom I already learned to know while Daedalus was injured, I made the acquaintance of three more quite remarkable individuals. One is called Horse, just because his face vaguely resembles that of a mare, or so they say. He has a deformed maxilla and protruding front teeth and thus talks with a strong sigmatism, which makes him sound really cute. Skip is the one who talks least; maybe because he is not as deformed as the others; in fact, I have only heard him once, and his voice was very weak. I have learned that the Nosferatu abhor clansmen who are less ugly than themselves. Or maybe Skip's larynx is the part of him that is deformed most. Then, there is yet another one, or so I think. I have never seen him, though, and even my heightened senses cannot make out his form when he chooses to stay out of my sight. I can hear him talk, though, and his voice is deep and rather comforting. I am sure that we will be good friends once he starts to trust me.

I am home late tonight. We had a team meeting, and for the first time my people seemed a bit relaxed and even started to socialize. Now that I enter our house, balancing two paper bags in one arm and a six-pack coke in the other, I can hear muffled laughter rising from the cellar. The sound dies as soon as they hear me, then, after I made a few steps, it increases again. As we do not yet have a kitchen, I put the bags down on a wooden chair in the hall and go down to the cellar right away. The staircase still smells of old oak wood and oil; Daedalus built it only a week ago, but he said that it is much better to use well seasoned wood. And it actually does not creak at all.

Coming down the stairs, I see three dirty guys (and one empty space) in a round, playing cards. I raise the six-pack as a greeting and am welcomed by a row of cheers. Tossing the coke at Freddy, who can catch anything you throw at him, moving like greased lightning, I look around, searching for Daedalus. Reading my expression, Horse says: "He'th not here, Callum. Up in the garden." He pops the coke bottle open with his claw and takes a swig, then hiccups, blowing bubbles. I excuse myself and go upstairs again after smiling at each of them, even at the empty space. They already feel like family. I cannot imagine life without them, and their cheers follow me on my way up and warm me from within.

I detect Daedalus in the garden, to be more exact: in the meticulously cleared area (apart from some trees and bushes) that is going to be our garden. He is talking to his darlings, the roses. He takes each rose tree in his hands, turns it around, places it here and there, until the rose seems to like the spot, the view, the air, or what knows I. It might sound a bit strange, or even weird, but I am sure these roses will prosper unlike any rose I've ever met before.

Watching the huge Nosferatu care for his plants, in the faint light of the rising moon, is so calming. And again, I am filled with pride and warm bubbles of love when I see him like that. The way he treats this garden stands for the way he treats life in general. He is thoughtful and caring, generous, yet never without reason. While he still does not seem to take any notice of my presence, I lean against the doorframe of the veranda and smile.

Life is the gardener of our souls, and with its wicked hands forms us – or some of us – into most bizarre shapes at times. I am the gardener whose task it is, by prodding here and there, to gently give those shapes a more agreeable profile again: something they can live with. But Daedalus, my sweet Daedalus, he is the one who keeps me in shape, just like those roses, and he helps me stay alive and sane. I cannot help it, but although I know he does not like to be bothered when attending to his little plants, I must approach him now. Calling his name, I make a few steps towards him.

Daedalus looks up, still holding a rose, and his gaunt features soften. "Callum. Would you believe that I have received… a discount." He must have noticed me long since and preferred to ignore me while greeting me in silence, but I ignore this familiar circumstance and decide to finally get used to his plunging into subjects. In fact, I quite like that, talking without decorum.

Hence, I just answer: "A what? You mean, at the store?" He told me that he started to go 'shopping' in the store at night on a regular base, and they obviously accepted that he puts the money on the table in exchange for the goods, but the mere image of him and Freddy walking through the aisles with trolleys still makes me chuckle. Amazing, these Americans; this really is a land of unlimited opportunities.

"Yes," Daedalus answers, carefully reaches into the pocket of his overcoat and takes out a note. With a solemn expression and the adequate theatrical air, he reads it to me. "Dear valued costumer: Please feel free to deduct five percent off the final amount of your next purchase. May we draw your attention to our fresh delivery of dianthus superbus in all shades. We are looking forward to not seeing you at your next visit with us. The Manager."

He looks at me expectantly, and all I can do is suppress the urge to burst out laughing. "You're getting an… under-cover discount. Why that's… splendid!" I have to distract myself, or else I will die from inner laughing pressure, so I start caressing the rose in Daedalus' hands. "They do have a cracking sense of humour, don't they." The touch of the cool soft petals is quite comforting and calming, yet it awakens something else; something not so unexpected, to be honest. Pretending to yawn and still petting the rose, I bat my eyelids. "I feel like going to bed early tonight."

Daedalus might be old, but he truly doesn't miss a beat. His eyes open wide for the fraction of a second, then he looks at me, at the rose and back to me. "I should at least…" Searching for words, he still glares at me, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times.

I find I must fill the breach for him. "Yanno," I propose helpfully. "You could just drop it theatrically and carry me into the house…"

Daedalus puts the rose down carefully, looks up and makes his eyes glow. I love it when he does that, it makes him look so powerful and threatening that it turns me on like nothing else. Just for the fun of it, I react in mock-shock, gesticulate frantically and exclaim: "No, no, no, I think I'll rather walk." I hope for a little struggle, but I guess he won't do me the favour.

"Too late" is the only thing I can hear apart from the gravel crunching under his soles, for I'm hanging upside down over his shoulder now. Well, to be honest, that's the part I don't like about the game. I mean, hanging upside down, especially after dinner, really. While my head is bobbing over his assets, I manage to utter: "You're being rather silly, honey."

He stops, but won't let go of me yet, and his tone of voice is almost indignant. "It was your wish. But if you insist…" He puts me down on the ground, where I almost stumble, and supporting myself on his arm look up at him and grumble: "Why thanks a lot, dear." I realize only now that we're both far away from being earnest, and it's just fine.

Side by side but fortunately not hand in hand or any of us bobbing anywhere, we go to our bedroom. It is situated in the winter garden; I had the inkling of an idea to set it up there and Daedalus instantly seized hold of the idea and turned the whole thing into something glorious. The walls are left raw, with the pale bricks cleaned and shining in a soft yellow, steel buckets with exotic plants (thanks to the store) in every corner, and a huge fourposter bed handmade of welded iron in the middle. I know that Daedalus has made the bed with his own hands, because he put the parts together in the same room. If we ever want to move, we'll either have to leave the monstrous object here, or else we'd have to take it apart with a cutting torch. The best thing about the bed, though, are the chains.

Yes, one might get some pretty strange ideas about our sex life at first glance, however the chains don't end in handcuffs, but in handles. Well, on second thought, one might get some pretty strange ideas about our sex life after all, especially because they're so very strong and fixed on the floor under the bed, so that even a 3000 year old Nosferatu in full swing won't be able to rip them out. We decided to install them after the first nights together, when neither the mattress nor my poor shoulders were willing to cooperate with his claws any more. I will always remember the chuckles and the lewd comments the boys made about this obvious tribute to our passion (and Daedalus' restless hands).

Of course, he won't stay there for the daytime. We had long discussions about that. I can understand that he wants to spend as much time with me as possible, but I could also convince him that I won't even be at home all day. So, he set up another, much more frugal bedstead in a secret room in the cellar. The boys won't be in there, and Gods only know where they spend the day. It is reassuring after all, that he is almost directly under me, although separated by a thick set of floorboards, and for once I could say in all conscience that I have a corpse in my cellar. All in all, we're growing to be one big and very strange family.

* * *

_To be continued... _


	16. Abyss

**Chapter 16 - Abyss**

* * *

**For disclaimer see chapter 1**

* * *

_**Callum**_

He is standing there. He is just standing there, in the middle of the dance-floor, among all the others, moving slightly to the rhythm of he music, smiling at me alone, committing sexual harassment because of being. And while I hardly manage to keep my heart from racing, I can but try to keep my mind from wandering. I don't know why I've come to this gay bar, maybe just to see if it's still the same it used to be, or maybe to move a bit among the living, if you'll excuse my blatancy. It is indeed just like it was when I first came here, years ago, but I have changed, and thus I resumed to remain sitting at the bar, sipping my drink, then leave. God, he's gorgeous.

With our kind, we don't need to ask where someone comes from, or why he's there, that much I've already learned. He must be one of us, because I can clearly feel the headache, although it is a bit different from the headache I had when I saw Marcos; that, in turn could be due to the altogether bizarre situation. I also learned that the words "I do not come for your head" are most reassuring, while not always true, whereas the simple information about one's name can drive you out of town, because most of the times it is a challenge. Coming from Chris, though, the words "I do not come for your head" don't bear anything reassuring. The only thing I know right now is that he has, indeed, not come for… well, my head as in 'top of body.' I wonder where his sword is, but I discard the thought as unimportant right now.

It's not that he is extremely handsome, at second thoughts. If you have any time for second thoughts, that is. His presence makes you run on the ancient part of your brain only, the one some people call the lizard brain, which makes second thoughts extremely difficult. To start with, his skin is fairly dark, not as dark as in "Central Africa," but comparable to your average "North African Arabian." His hair, though, is a kind of golden brown, falling over his shoulders in long tresses. It doesn't fit, and yet is totally fitting the way he is as a whole. His eyes strike me most. They are a shade of light grey, I have no idea how those eyes come with a face like this, old, Egyptian pharaoh style features now splitting into a wicked smile, luring me away from the bar and onto the dance floor, knowing it all at a glance, and devouring me even before I can say the first word.

What I know at first glance is, this guy is bad, really bad, especially for me. After all, it is those men with undeniable power that attract me most, and although I am with one of the most powerful men in this city, I know I cannot fight it, and I will just love whatever he will do. The only thing I can do is follow his call and let it happen. He introduces himself as Chris, and I know instantly that this isn't his real name, and if I'm lucky I'll never learn about it, because only then I'll have a wee chance to get out of this alive. While introducing myself, I come to my senses again, only slightly, but enough to take in the whole situation.

He is standing in this bar as if he had been waiting for me. This would be highly improbable, for I haven't been to that bar like, for ages, and yet it is more than pure coincidence that I come across another immortal (I just make up my mind that he is one of us) in a gay bar. Great God, this man is evil, and I cannot fathom the depths of his soul. I force myself to look into his eyes once more, and he begs me follow him with a gracious gesture of his heavily silver ringed fingers, strange thing on his hand, if you give it a thought, and then we just walk outside, into my destiny, which in his case is a white BMW with tinted glasses.

What can I do but sit down next to him? He smells as expensive as he's dressing, something very exotic with a lot of cardamom in it, I notice before my heart leaps once again, and we kiss until I have to lean back and catch some breath.

"We will go to my place," he states without further ado. I catch myself nodding with assent, although I still don't know if this will cost me my head, or my soul, or whatever. It's early evening, I will have to go to the ward later tonight, this is crazy, I shouldn't have gone to this bar, never again, great God I'm on fire. We don't talk much. There is nothing to talk about. The moment he touches me, I know I'm lost. There is something about his glittering hands, his voice, something about the way he moves, some ancient art in all of this, I just cannot resist. But finally I force myself to talk again, even if it merely comes out as a whisper. "I won't be able to stay all night, I'll have to go to work again tonight…"

Starting the car, Chris flashes me an extraordinarily mysterious smile. "We won't need the whole night, my dear. The compulsory follows the free." With this, he drives us to his condo; unnecessary to say, it is – apart from Luna Manor – the most expensive address I've been to in my whole life. It looks faintly familiar. I think I've seen something like this in an Egyptian museum…

During the hours to come, I don't have much time to think, but in-between, just once, I wonder whether Daedalus is already searching for me. Then again, Chris is more than distracting. The things he does and says go beyond anything I know. He is wicked and mean, and at the same time oh so efficient and the fucking best lover I've ever had. It's unbelievable. Of course, I will go back to Daedalus and stay with him and never see Chris again, but right now, I indulge in Chris' skills and let myself sink deeper and deeper into his web of sin. I'm drowning… in his hands, the pretty things on his fingers make my mind swirl, and in his voice, soft like liquid gold…

I'm drowning…

The late night round in my ward was quiet, and all children are sound asleep. This is good, of course, because I had not intended to spend more time there than absolutely necessary; I have other, more important things to do, and Chris was waiting for me. He took me to the hospital, and although he told me that I can take my time, I knew that he was impatient to see me again. This guy is so unbelievably gorgeous.

He is also actually very helpful; he even asked me about the children, although I am quite convinced that he is not the person to be interested in medical matters. Anyway, as he was almost pressing me about my work, I told him everything about it. This was even more rewarded because he is such a good listener, and he always knew the right questions to ask; about where the children were from, and what had happened to them. Especially Daniel seemed to hold his interest, and he was so honestly concerned about his future and his whereabouts. Really, Chris is such a nice guy. I feel like I've known him for ages, and I utterly trust him.

I have to work the early morning shift, too; there is no way around this. Fortunately, I can stay with Chris and he takes me back to the hospital when it is time. Although the night is really short, I do not feel tired at all and set to work with a quiet and balanced ease I've missed for months, if not for years. Only once, I come to think of Daedalus, this strange and ugly fellow, but the thought of him distracts me too much from my work and threatens to spoil my mood, and so I put it aside. I do not even know where it came from.

The children are extraordinarily quiet today, they look at me in awe and cooperate nicely, and I feel that I am finally getting the respect I deserve. Chris reconfirmed this, and he reminded me of my position as ward doctor. He is right about this, of course, as always, and even the personnel seems to notice the difference.

I arrange for Chris to pick me up at my house later this night, because I do have to look at the building proceedings. On my way home, I stop at a Mediterranean Deli and provide a few things I've missed long since on my menu. Then, with an interesting Egyptian song on my lips I must have heard yesterday night, I drive to my house. Voices from below reach my ears, and I remember that a couple of Daedalus' men are still working down there in the cellar.

Thank God the work will be finished soon, so that I will have the house to myself. They are dreadful people, and the thought of them spending the whole night in my cellar makes me sick. Continuing to hum the music Chris and I listened to last night, I prepare the food and sit down to eat in the living room. Thinking of him brings a bright smile on my face, and I can feel that I'm blushing. He did wicked things to me, and I love it.

When I notice a slight movement from the corner of my eye, I look up and see Daedalus stand in the doorway. He has obviously come in from the garden; his shoes are full of soil, and right now I remember that he wanted to do some gardening for me. I hope he won't spoil the carpet, though. In order not to be impolite, I look at him, but I am certainly in no mood for a friendly chat with the personnel.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

I have noticed Callum coming home, but, unlike all the times before, he does not go down into the basement to greet my clanmates, nor does he come to find me in the garden. This is unusual, but, judging from the fact that he's singing, I assume that he's in a good mood, so nothing untoward seems to have occurred.

And yet, something feels wrong. It's too insubstantial to qualify, yet I notice something amiss; either the presence of something that wasn't there before, or the absence of something that's always been here. Or both.

Finally, finding myself unable to concentrate on anything but Callum, I give up my puttering in the garden and enter the house to find him in the living room, eating his breakfast. He looks up, but he says nothing, no word of greeting or acknowledging of my presence. No smile lights his face. If anything, he seems almost angry at the sight of me.

"Callum?" I say softly. "What has happened?"

He meets my eyes briefly before turning back to his meal. "Nothing," he says shortly. "I don't have much time, I'll be going out again."

It's all I can do to keep the alarm and hurt out of my face and voice. Approaching him, I reach out, intending to take his hand the way I've always done almost since the moment we met, but the look in his eyes tells me more clearly than words could have done that he would refuse me, maybe even pull his hand away. Rather than facing such a substantial sign of his rejection, I abort the movement and merely fold my hands in front of myself, looking at him. "Is everything all right?" I try again.

"Yes, of course it is." Callum looks back at me, and the expression in his eyes is hard. "Look, I've had a long day and a short night, and I'd like to be alone."

"Will I see you later today?" I know I'm begging, but I can't help it. This is what I've always feared – that it will end, that I will lose him, that the times of love and friendship with him will pass and never come again.

But he gives me no respite. "No, most certainly not."

It's painful. It actually hurts like a physical injury. "I see," I force out, hanging on to my dignity by a fingernail.

Callum looks up again, and now I can see what is definitely a spark of anger in his eyes. "Would you just leave me alone."

The anger in his eyes sparks my own, forces me to remember the times when something like this happened to me before. This time it's different. This time I have invested too much of myself. I don't have to lie down and just take this. I won't be sent away like a dog. So I continue to stand there, staring at him, forcing him to make his position clear, reminding him that it's not wise to antagonize me. After all, I have killed him once before, and not in anger.

But even now, my Callum is courageous. He puts down his fork and meets my eyes. "Listen, I don't want to talk to you, and I don't want to see you, not today, and not tomorrow. And I most certainly don't want you to stare at me like that, you ugly scarecrow!"

I can feel the growl deep in my chest, and my hands twitch, but I restrain myself. There has to be an explanation, I tell myself, something that will make sense of his behavior, something that will keep my world from falling to pieces around me. Calling upon my powers, I read his emotions, but all I can gather from what I see is that whatever love he might have felt for me is gone.

Suddenly, despair is very close to engulfing me after all, but I fight it back down. There is still one chance, one possibility to deny this nightmare. I've promised him that I won't do this, that I'd respect his privacy and not use my powers to pry, but I have no choice. I must know.

Passing a hand over Callum's eyes, I ruthlessly grab hold of his mind and order him, "Tell me what has happened."

"I had a drink," Callum says without expression. "I went home. I went to work. I went home. I had dinner."

I feel like taking hold of his shoulders and shaking him until the truth falls out. That can't have been all. I have to believe that he wouldn't just stop loving me from one day to the next. Surely it can't all have been an illusion. Surely there was more to what we had than just... than just...

But no matter how differently I phrase my question or how much pressure I exert on his mind, I can't find anything. Nothing to explain, nothing to excuse. I have to accept that this is indeed how it ends.

My vision turns red as my eyes start blazing with a mixture of rage and despair, and then I ask the last, the only important, question. "Do you truly wish me to leave?" It will be impossible for him under the influence of my powers to be anything other than truthful.

Callums voice doesn't waver as he drives the stake into my heart. "Yes, I do. I never want to see you again."

I can hear myself make a sound like something dying. But no; there's no such respite for me. I can't die. I can't evade this feeling. I'm dead already, ancient, eternal. And I'll keep feeling this pain until my Final Death.

With the force of my despair getting very close to overwhelming me, my mind releases its hold over Callum's, and I take a step back to stare at him. I can't think. All I can hear is a wailing in my mind. It's over. It's really, truly over.

"Hey, you're still here," Callum's voice reaches my ears. "Don't you get me?" He leans closer. There's an odd expression on his face, in his intonation. "Didn't you read the signs? I never loved you."

I can feel my lips draw back from my fangs and my hands tense in expectation of tearing into his flesh, to take revenge upon him for hurting me so. Oh yes, the Beast is very close to the surface. I know my eyes have changed color, and I know that he is no match for my anger, and even his immortality won't save him when I tear his body to shreds and devour him. I even take a step towards him, and the sounds I can hear myself making don't sound even remotely human. Then I raise my hands, talons extended towards him, eyes fixed upon his unflinching blue-eyed stare behind his glasses. The Beast is about to break free -

"It's over," Callum goes on, blithely ignoring the warning signs. "And take your freaking work force with you."

There is a flash behind my eyes, and I strike out in one blinding manifestation of fury. At the last moment, I redirect my strike onto the table instead of at Callum. Amidst a clatter of dishes and silverware, one of my talons catches in the tablecloth and rips the whole thing down, leaving a furrow in the wood but Callum unharmed.

I still love him, and I could never hurt the one I love.

"As you wish," I force out when the clattering stops, my voice barely recognizable even to my own ears. And then I turn and stalk out of the room without a backward glance, to the stairway, down to the basement.

My clanmates look up from what they are doing to stare at me. Obviously, they can easily discern that something is wrong even without the benefit of Auspex. "We are finished here," I grate before they can ask. "You can go home. We... can go home."

* * *

_**Callum**_

Shortly after the ugly ones left, Chris picks me up with his white BMW. As soon as I set eyes upon him, my heart starts singing, and like before, I have this unbelievable feeling of longing and belonging, I want to fly into his arms and stay there forever. As soon as I see him smile, I feel that everything else grows unimportant, the whole everyday life melts away from me, and I am free.

He takes me to his place again, of course. I wonder why I bought the house, anyway. I forgot the reason why. I won't need it, I want to be with Chris. He has an unbelievably beautiful apartment in the middle of the city, it must cost a fortune, but he's also unbelievably rich, so I guess it's just the right thing for him. The interior is an expensive and very tasteful mix of Egyptian and Greek styles, I love it very much. I love him very much.

Like last night and the night before, we have this unbelievable sex together, he seems to know me through and through, and he is such a wicked and experienced lover. I adore him. He is like the god of lovers. The way he moves, the way his dark skin glistens in the dim light, even his eyes seem to glow in the dark, every now and then. Yes, he must be a god. And I am his servant.

Just when I am about to fall asleep, though, he asks me something strange. He asks about the children, although he must remember that I've already told him everything. But now, he wants to know where Daniel has gone. I want to serve him, I would do anything to please him, yet I have to disappoint him here, because even I don't know where Marcos has gone, and apart from some short phone calls, I haven't yet received the letter Daniel had promised to write.

In spite of my endeavor to be as helpful as possible, Chris seems to get angry at me. I am shocked about this fast swing of mood, and I desperately try to cheer him up. But he won't let me. He lifts up his ringed hand, and suddenly I get this headache again, and I cry out in pain. While I still wonder what is going on, Chris puts his arms around me and comforts me with his soft voice. I just don't know what happened. I feel weak, almost feeble, and for the first time since we met, I am scared.

When Chris takes me to the hospital in the morning, I feel sick, but he reassures me that everything will be fine after I've gone to work. I want to believe him, like always, but I feel a certain hint of doubt in my guts. Nevertheless, I set to work. Like I feared before, I can hardly concentrate on the conversation with my little patients, and when a little girl finally asks me if I'm not feeling well, I agree and go home.

What the hell is going on? My mind is in a turmoil, I almost swoon when I enter the house, and when the door closes behind me, I actually have a nervous breakdown. I sit down in the entrance hall and cry, and when I'm finished, there is no other sound than my own breathing. The house is so empty, so cold, and so lonely. I enter the living room and search for – what? Somebody who would take me into his arms, but who? Chris promised to call around eight, so I've only four hours to myself. Maybe I should lie down.

My eyes fall on the answering machine, and I see the little red light blinking. After I rewind and press 'play,' Chao-dai's voice rings out. He says that, as far as he can remember, we had a date in the morning, and he missed me. My head starts spinning again, I faintly remember that I should be there every morning to learn something, but I simply forgot what it was. It can't be that important, so I delete the message and walk to the bedroom veranda to lie down.

When I come to stand beside the bed, my foot touches something hard that gives a slight clinking sound, and I see a pair of heavy chains under the bed, the purpose of which I can't even guess. How kinky. They must have been here before I moved in. The headache grows stronger yet, strange, I thought I couldn't get any kind of disease, but maybe I simply overworked and it will possibly go away after some hours of rest. I lie down and immediately fall asleep.

The doorbell wakes me from my slumber, and Chris seems quite annoyed when I inform him that I have to take a short shower before joining him. Instead of coming in, he prefers to wait in the car. This strikes me as odd, but I don't argue. I haste to shower and change, I hate to let him wait, and as soon as I see him, I long to be with him again. When I finally sit down beside him in the car, he is royally pissed. I try to find out why, because he can't have been waiting more than 5 minutes, but he refuses to talk to me. In silence, we drive to his place again.

There, in his splendid apartment, it happens for the first time that we start to discuss, and I soon find out that this isn't your usual lover's quarrel. I merely asked him whether he could help me out with some memory, because I seem to have forgotten important parts of what happened last week, but it seems to be like a cue for him to turn mad. Whatever I say, Chris seems to be indomitable in his fury. I suddenly remember last night, the headache comes back, and the whole world seems to turn into a nightmare.

Out of the blue, Chris yells at me in a strange language, something I've never heard before, and his voice sounds so strange, so deep and unnatural, as if something else is talking out of him. This is not my Chris, at least not like I've know him before. I still try to calm him down by talking to him like I would talk to my patients, but this won't make it any better, in fact, it only worsens the matter. Then, his eyes seem to glow again, a bright and shining yellow flash, just for a moment, as if a lamp has been switched on and off behind his orbs.

I find myself sitting down in a corner of the vast apartment while Chris slowly seems to calm down. He ignores me, but even when I try I cannot get out. There are no doorknobs on any doors, and I don't understand the mechanism, it must be hidden. Hence, all I can do is remain sitting in my little corner like an idiot, waiting for him to remember my existence. After a while, he comes to me and helps me get up, and his smile is as bright as ever. I cannot help it but smile back, and the making up sex is just glorious. And yet… I just don't know what this is all about, and the little grain of doubt wants to grow.

* * *

_**Daedalus**_

I have managed to reach my haven without mishap. My composure seems surprisingly intact. There is a great calm within me, an emptiness that is almost the absence of feeling, but I'm aware that this is deceiving. I know I must be in shock, and like a large boulder that, after millennia of resting in one place, has suddenly lost stability and is about to cause a ravine, my despair is about to crash around me and consume my mind. I have to be somewhere safe when that happens, and preferably alone.

I come to stand next to my chair, looking around. No one here. Good. Maybe a glass of wine, even though there is nothing to celebrate. Definitely a cigarette. I will wait a while, until I can be certain of myself, and then I'll need to go hunting. Going hungry and despair is a bad mixture. Later, I'll inform Julian that he won't have to do without his enforcer for extended periods of time after all. He, at least, will be pleased.

I'm quite proud of my rational thought processes. Maybe I can avoid after all what is nowadays called crashing and burning.

It is the sight of the half-finished sundial in my work study that finally does me in.

No more Callum, I suddenly realize. I'll never hear his voice again, feel his body again, look at him again. Like I always feared, he has stopped loving me. I'll never finish the house, never share the evenings with him on that small rise in our garden watching the ships. His garden. Never mine. It was all an illusion. I'm alone again.

Suddenly, the howl is outside of me. Then my talons are out, something crashes, something rips beneath my hands. Dust rises around me. There is red wetness on my face, on my hands, on my clothing, and a great pain in my chest.

I'm aware that I'm no longer alone only when I suddenly hear voices. Someone whom I should know calls "Code Red"; there is a flurry of activity and more shouts, but I pay none of it any heed. Strange how easily blood is absorbed by plaster... I never knew that there was natural rock behind the bricks of my walls...

Then something hits me hard in the back and shoves me forward, and a sharpened tip of wood protrudes out of my chest. I look down on its bloody end even as I abruptly lose control of my limbs and fall to the floor in an ungainly heap, hitting my head on the stone floor. A cloud seems to lift from my mind as I lie motionless, staring into the upside-down face of a Nosferatu bending over me from behind me.

Frederick. Lowering a crossbow.

Code Red, I suddenly remember. Kindred out of control – possible breach of the Masquerade. I invented that, made it part of the guidelines for this domain. I also stipulated that this was the only circumstance that warranted the use of the stake with impunity.

I've been staked. By my second.

There is the sound of shuffling feet and the sheathing of blades of various sizes, but no one says anything for a while. I can hear myself making a sound halfway between a croak and a groan, and my right hand twitches. Otherwise I'm incapable of movement, paralyzed by the stake. The air smells of fear and rage. And of vitae. My vitae.

Frederick's hands grab me under my shoulders and pull me into a more comfortable position, but I notice that he wisely doesn't remove the stake yet. He'll make a good Primogen one night, I find myself thinking with some pride.

That's the moment when I realize the frenzy has passed.

Frederick, too, seems to think so. "Okay, boss?" his raspy voice comes.

I can't speak, of course, but I fix my eyes on him and blink twice.

"Okay, um... What's the sum of digits of twenty-three?" he asks me. Obviously he doesn't quite trust me yet. I must have made quite a spectacle of myself, I conclude ruefully.

A Kindred in frenzy would be incapable of answering that question, but I blink five times without hesitation.

It seems to reassure him, for he folds his spindly fingers around the stake and pulls it out of my chest without effort. "There's some rats nearby," he rasps, grabbing the stake and the crossbow and stepping smartly out of my reach. "I'll be goin'. Have fun clearin' up all that."

"Frederick," I call after him, getting to my feet and brushing off my clothes.

He halts and turns around, his Roswell alien face full of worry. I don't blame him. Staking your Primogen is not something you do every night, and the total loss of control incurred is not something we normally deal with very well, Code Red or no. And despite his strength and speed, he wouldn't stand a chance against me in a fight if I wanted to take my rage out on him.

"Good shot," I merely say, nodding at the crossbow hanging from his hand. It will have to suffice as thanks until I've gathered myself more and he can be certain that I mean it.

He grins and leaves me amidst the destruction of my haven.

I look around without seeing. The frenzy may have passed, but my despair has not. It will not for some time. Years, maybe decades. But now that I'm no longer feeling the rage of injury, I can at least grieve.

The night has passed, or a large part of it. It's hard to tell the passage of time. I was vaguely aware of Frederick poking his head into my haven once again at one point, and I'm afraid I've snarled at him, maybe even thrown something. There was no room for anyone else here with me and my despair. Like the wounded beast that I am, I crawled into the darkest corner I could find and stayed there, unable to even lick my wounds.

Finally, the tears have stopped coming, and the pain has dulled to manageable levels. Time to stop mourning the passage of something that elevated me above my fellow monsters for a while. Time to rejoin the undead.

But of course, it's not that easy. After restoring some sort of order, I've tried painting, but for once my emotions are too turbulent for the intricacies of colors and shapes. Next, I've paced the confines of my haven like a caged tiger, back and forth, back and forth, trying to find solace in movement, but of course, physical exertion won't soothe my mind. I can't get tired, have been unable to for millennia. The only thing that would truly help would be a fight, something immediate and threatening enough to take my mind off my Callum.

Where are the lupines when you need them?

So, finally, I flop down onto my favorite chair which has thankfully been spared the effects of my frenzy, staring morosely into mid-air and wondering when I forgot how to deal with situations like this. Caine knows I've gone through something similar often enough to have more than enough practice by now. Shaking my head at myself, I light up a cigarette, something I tend to do when I literally don't know what else to do.

There is the sound of footsteps on the stairs. "Anybody home?" Julian's voice calls overly merrily.

I had not thought it possible in my current state, but the sound of his voice actually brightens my heart. "Julian." My voice is rough from using nothing but animal sounds for so long.

The Prince correctly interprets that as an invitation to join me in my haven. He steps down and approaches, an open wine bottle and two glasses in hand. Wisely, he merely glances at the evidence of destruction I haven't been able to erase without commenting. Throwing me a searching glance, he says, "I had a feeling that I should join you."

I force a smile, vaguely surprised that I actually manage it. "We have been here before," I comment.

Julian frowns. "What do you mean?"

"You always seem to have a feeling such as this when I finally find myself alone again." Another one of our rituals, enacted more often than I care to count. I fall in love, I lose my love, and Julian is there with his wine and his company.

But this time, Julian flatters me by looking utterly surprised. Pulling up a wooden crate, he brushes the dust away with his hand and sits down next to me without a word. In lieu of speaking, he reaches out a hand to pat my knee, a vaguely preoccupied expression on his handsome face.

After a pause, I say, "I should not be surprised."

"Well, I sure am," Julian comments dryly.

I throw him a sidelong glance. "I had no reason to hope that it would last as long as it has."

Julian smiles one of his heartstopping smiles. "You're selling yourself cheap again."

Am I, Julian? I don't think so. If anything, I vastly overestimated my market worth by allowing myself to dream. And after thousands of years and hundreds of unhappy endings, I certainly should know better.

"What exactly did happen?" Julian asks after a pause.

"He told me he never wanted to see me again."

"He did?" Julian clears his throat. "Well, I… I'm sorry. What else did he tell you?"

I look at him. If I didn't know better, I'd think he thinks that it has somehow to do with him. I mentally shake my head. Sometimes, Julian tends to assume that the world revolves around him, and I don't blame him. In this city at least, after all, it does.

But not this time, Julian. This time Callum fell out of love without your help. "He said that he does not love me any more. I didn't need to hear any more than that."

"But… He cannot mean this, after all the other things he said."

"But he does," I grate out. "I looked into his mind, Julian. There is no explanation except that which he has given me."

"You looked into his mind," Julian repeats, frowning. "I fear you lost me there. Is there anything else he told you, anything that would… explain what he said?"

"No."

Julian sighs.

"I tried to find an explanation just as much as you are," I go on tonelessly. "I asked him." Again and again. Oh, how I asked him, trying to find an answer, an explanation, anything but this abrupt ending, this sudden death of everything we had built together. "But there is nothing."

Julian looks at me, and something is working inside him. "I met with him only a couple of nights ago. He didn't say anything."

"A couple of nights ago, everything was fine. This happened tonight. Without warning."

Julian gets up. "This just doesn't make sense. I can't believe it. I will talk to him."

I look up at him, hopelessly. "Don't you think I tried that?"

He sits down again. "Of course."

"I saw that he told me the truth. I must accept it." Accept it and move on, like I did so often before. But this time, it will be harder than ever before. This time, I had too much time to get used to the thought of an "us". My Callum. I even called him that in my mind. It will take so long to undo this, so much pain will have to be worked through, that I am daunted by the task ahead of me.

Julian looks at me with an odd expression. "Whatever may happen, my dear friend, it's not over yet." He reaches out and takes my hand. "I've known you to be a man who won't give up that easily."

"Giving up and accepting reality are not the same thing," I argue. "I was… deceived by an illusion, and now I see true."

"This was no illusion, Daedalus, although it might be hard to believe. This was love. Callum… is different." There is a strange intensity in his tone.

I close my eyes in pain. "Julian, please don't make this harder than it already is."

But he won't let this rest. "It's… he… He showed me that… it is conceivable that… a man can love another man…" He trails off, and I stare at him. But before I can find the words to voice my amazement, he goes on, "And he was quite aware that we… that you and I… may harbor deep feelings for each other. The only thing I can think of is… but that would be too cruel, and he is not that calculating." At this point, he apparently realizes that he is babbling and stops.

I'm still staring at him.

"I would like to stay with you tonight," he declares.

This is not part of our ritual. At some point, we have left the safe confines of that which always happens when I have lost my love, which is that we share a glass of wine, talk about some commonplace occurrences, and then he leaves me to myself.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

He takes my hand, and then he kisses it as if I were the prince, and puts his forehead against it the way I always do with his hand.

"Julian...?"

"Whatever happens," he says hoarsely, "I'm with you, my friend."

Words still won't come. Helplessly, I rise from my chair, wanting to show him my appreciation for his presence here, now, and, yes, my love for him. Fortunately, Julian, too, gets to his feet, so suddenly all is very easy, and I simply take him in my arms.

He readily returns my embrace. It is like coming home.

"I am considering spending the night with you," Julian says softly, "as in, sharing your bed, but I can't imagine us playing the doggy game." He pulls back and smiles, apparently a little embarrassed.

I return his smile. Truth be told, neither can I. Not right now. Generally speaking however, I can, and I have. Often. This is of course not something I can tell him. I'm a member of his Primogen Council. It is my duty to advise him, to speak out if I think his decisions are wrong. And I'm Nosferatu. We abide by the law, and if Julian makes decisions that go against Kindred law, I'm obligated by clan policy to vote against him. I'm also his enforcer, and in that position I can afford impure thoughts about him even less.

None of which has kept me from having them. How could I not have them? He is so beautiful, so powerful for his young age. So incredibly charismatic and attractive. So unattainable for the likes of me.

True, he's never treated me like other Ventrue normally treat us. That's not Julian's style. He's always gone against convention. Offering the Gangrel Primogen a position as his bodyguard and thereby inviting him into his house has only been one of many decisions that set him apart not only from other member of his clan, but also from most princes.

He interrupts my thoughts by moving his head towards me in a way that I, with my recently gained experience, can't misinterpret. And then our lips meet, and for a moment, I even forget about my pain, about my Callum, about all other mortals I ever loved.


End file.
